Stays in Vegas
by amythis
Summary: Angela's 1978 encounter with a handsome stranger might not stay in Vegas.
1. Bayer

Waking up with a hangover in a strange hotel room is bad enough. But seeing a naked stranger walk in a moment later is even worse. Well, Mother wouldn't see these as bad things, particularly since the naked stranger is the most gorgeous man I've ever met. But then, I'm nothing like my mother.

He smiles at me and says in a New York accent (The Bronx? Brooklyn? Definitely not Manhattan), "Oh, good, you're awake. You want some?" He holds out his hand, with two white pills in his palm. I notice he has a small glass of water in the other hand.

Since I apparently also have partial memory loss, taking drugs from the naked stranger seems like a particularly bad idea. "No thank you," I say as politely as I can under the circumstances.

He shakes his head. "It's just aspirin. I thought you might have a hangover, too."

"Oh. Well, thank you." I sit up and take the pills and the water from him. They do have "Bayer" on them. I swallow both "aspirins" and wash them down with the water. I feel funny about trusting him, but it may be too late to be worrying about that.

He smiles again. "You look cute in my jersey."

I look down at myself. I hadn't realized till now that I'm not naked. I see two birds sitting on a baseball bat, and some word in red cursive that I can't quite read upside-down. Then I look at him. "Thank you, you're cute, too."

His smile gets bigger and so does something much further down.

"Uh, I mean." I'm sure my face is as red as the birds and the word.

"Sorry about last night."

"Well, uh."

"I had too much to drink and then I guess I passed out. Thanks for sticking around till the morning so we could try again."

"Oh, um." So we didn't have sex last night? Not that my body feels any less celibate than in the past seven weeks, but you never know.

"I'm gonna get aspirin for myself and then I'll come right back."

"Um, OK." I know I should use this opportunity to sneak out of the room but I don't seem to be wearing anything other than his jersey. Not to mention, I would need to find the key to my own room. And I can't exactly go down to the front desk and ask for assistance.

I wish I could remember more of last night. Well, anything actually. Hopefully it will come back to me very soon.

I wonder how much he remembers. I wish I at least knew his name. God, how did I end up here? Even without sex, this is so unlike me!

I don't know if Mother would be more shocked or amused. Yes, she teased me when I left for Reno, but I behaved in Reno. I mostly just read classic literature and soaked up the sun. Then I decided I may as well visit Vegas. It was silly to come all this way and not go. And I hadn't been here in over nine years. Who knew I would have as strange a night as I did then?

He comes back, still smiling, still naked. "How ya feelin', Abby? Can I call ya that?"

"You could, but my name is Angela."

He frowns. "Oh, I thought you said Abigail."

"No, it's Angela." At least I remember my own name.

"Well, I was close. Three syllables, starting with an A, like mine."

Well, there's a clue. Alistair? Avery? Arturo? Apollo? He could be Hispanic or Greek. He's got dark eyes and hair and olive skin.

He smiles a little. "Anthony? Remember?"

I blush. I may as well be honest about this. "To be perfectly frank, I don't remember much of last night."

He frowns. "Oh. Either you had more to drink than I realized, or I definitely didn't make an impression on you."

"The, the first one."

"You'd like me to put on some clothes, wouldn't you?"

I know how Mother would answer, but I appreciate his sensitivity. "Yes. Sorry."

"Hey, Ab—Angela, no sweat. This must be a weird situation for you."

I nod. "I don't, I mean, this isn't my usual, um."

"Ah. Got it." He goes over to a chest of drawers and pulls pajama bottoms out of the lowest drawer. I try not to ogle his tight, firm derriere, and then he faces me again. As he pulls on the pajamas, he says, "It didn't used to be for me either. I remember some of last night. A few blanks spots, not just when I passed out. But I remember you, I remember inviting you upstairs. I remember dancing with you."

I shake my head. "I don't dance."

"What do you mean you don't dance? You're amazing!"

"I am?"

He chuckles. "Unless I'm remembering wrong."

"No, whenever I go to a disco, I bump into people."

"But we didn't go to a disco. I hate disco."

"Oh."

"I took you to a place with oldies." He shakes his head. "Jesus, songs from ten, fifteen years ago, when I was a kid, are oldies now."

I look more closely at his boyish face and his boyish hair. How old is he? He's definitely got a man's body. Somewhere in his 20s I suppose.

"But you said you liked them, too. You know, '60s stuff, especially Motown."

"Yes, I was a teenager ten or fifteen years ago when they were popular."

"Yeah, exactly. And we danced real well together. Real well." His eyes, which looked puppy-doggish a minute ago turn bedroomy, and I can see exactly why I accepted his invitation upstairs.

I shake my head. "I'm the Connecticut Klutz. It's hard to believe that drinking would make me graceful."

"But you were. I taught you my favorite dance and it was like we'd been dancing together forever."

" 'On Broadway,' " I murmur. I remember that part now.

"Right."

"I can tell a lot about a woman by the way she moves on the dance floor."

I blush yet again. Maybe these are all lines, maybe he says these to all the women he invites to hotel rooms, but he is getting to me. Why is this sexy man hitting on me? There must be something wrong with him.

I resort to humor as a defense. "Oh? Can you tell what I do for a living?"

I expect him to say actress or model. But he comes closer, looking at my eyes and my hands. "Writer?"

"Close enough. I'm in advertising."

He sits on the bed, near but not next to me. "Right. You might've told me that. It sounds familiar."

"What about you?"

"Guess," he teases, pulling gently on the sleeve of the jersey.

"Clothes designer."

"Oo, so close! I play for them."

"Them?"  
"The Cards?"

I look down at the word in cursive, again trying to read it upside down. "The Cardinals?" That explains the red birds, and the bat.

"Uh, yeah." He looks a little offended that I'm not sure.

"I'm sorry, I don't follow sports."

He laughs. "Oh. Well, that's kind of refreshing I guess."

"Anthony, about last night—"

"Call me Tony."

"OK. Tony. I find you very attractive but I'm not the sort of person who just goes to bed with strangers. Not that I'm judging you but—"

"I'm not that kind of person either. I thought we were more acquaintances."

"You didn't even remember my name!"

"I knew it last night. I knew other things about you then. Like you're from Connecticut, right?"

"Yes. And you're from St. Louis?" I think that's where the Cardinals play.

He chuckles. "New York. I thought the accent was sort of a giveaway."

"Then why not play for the Mets?"

"The Mets didn't give me a break. The Cards did."

"Oh. What position do you play?"

"Second base," he whispers, tracing the word "Cardinals" with his fingertips.

"Tony," I whisper, but I don't know if I'm asking him to stop or asking him to continue.

"There's a real nice way to get acquainted, you know."

"It's not that I don't want to."

"Yeah, you said you find me very attractive. I find you very attractive."

"Why?"

He blinks. "Why? You've got legs like Tina Turner, hair like Farrah, a neck like Grace Kelly, and eyes—"

"Yes?" I wait to see what line he'll come up with.

"Like midnight," he says quietly, gazing into them.

"Oh, I wish I'd packed my shovel."

He chuckles again. "You're not good with compliments, are you?"

"Not when someone's trying to get me into bed."

"I did get you into bed, Baby. But I'm not gonna push this is if it's not what you want."

I feel both relieved and rejected. "Thank you."

"On the other hand, Connecticut's not too far from New York."

I smile. "Would you like to go out some time?"

"Yeah, if you would."

"I'd like that. But aren't you on the road a lot?"

He shakes his head. "Baseball season is over. Well, for the Cards it is anyway."

"Oh. Um, how did you do?"  
"We placed fifth."

"Oh, well, that's not bad." I try to remember how many baseball teams there are.

"In the National League. East."

"Oh."  
"After the Phillies."

"Oh. That's not that good, is it?"

"Not really. There are only six teams."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "You win some, you lose some."

"And not just in baseball."  
He snorts. "Ain't that the truth."

"Um, Tony?"

"Yeah, Angela?"

"If we go out, I'm not looking for anything serious. I mean, I don't want a one-night stand obviously, but I just got out of a very serious relationship."

He looks away. "Yeah, me, too. No, that sounds good. It would be nice to just do the dating thing again. Dinner, dancing." He looks at me again.

We smile at each other. And then we lean in and kiss. He's a very good kisser. He's not what I'm used to—I've never dated a jock before—but I like him, the little I know of him.

He smiles again when we stop kissing. "Will you think it's a line if I say you're a great kisser?"

"Not if you say it like that."

"You're a great kisser, Angela."

"So are you, Tony."

He smiles. "Fifteen years of practice."

"Me, too. Well, not non-stop."

"Well, yeah, I had to stop to eat, drink, talk, spit."

I laugh.

"Snore."

"Do you snore?"

"You didn't hear me last night?"

"Well, I was pretty out of it."

"Yeah. Listen for it next time we sleep together."

I know I should accuse him of arrogance, but he says it so matter-of-factly. "I will. Assuming I'm sober."

"You better be! I want you to remember everything when we really go to bed. And you will," he adds suggestively.

"So will you," I respond automatically. That's unlike me, too. I can't flirt with good-looking men. I'm usually too shy and tongue-tied. But Tony is different, in many ways.

He grins and then he actually looks a little shy as he asks, "How's your head?"

"Better."  
"Uh, you want a neck massage?"

"My Grace-Kelly-like neck?" I tease.

"Yeah."

I swallow. I know where this can lead, especially with the two of us half-naked in bed. And there's no guarantee that he will actually look me up when we get back East. But I've lived most of my life not taking risks, and I find that this is a risk I want to take. "Yes, please. Thank you."

He has me sit in front of him, my back to him. I feel both vulnerable and safe. No man has ever made me feel like that before. I put my head forward and he begins gently but firmly rubbing my neck.

"You have good hands."  
"Thanks."

I wonder if I should return the favor when he's done, since after all he has a hangover, too. It's strange to be with a man who thinks of my needs first. Maybe it's all part of the seduction, but it's nonetheless wonderful.

He moves his hands down to my shoulders but then he puts his lips on my neck. I shiver in surprise, delight, and, oh dear, arousal! "Is that OK?" he whispers.

"Yes," I breathe. I just want to keep saying yes to this man. This is insane! But lovely.

I imagine his hands moving to the front of the jersey, cupping my breasts. And then—

And then, in reality, the phone rings.

"I'm sorry, Angie. Do you mind if I get that? It might be my daughter's babysitter."

I'm startled, and not just by him calling me Angie. "You have a daughter? Are you married?"

"Widowed," he says quietly.

"Oh. I'm sorry." Is that what he meant by recently getting out of a serious relationship?

"Yeah, well." He moves away and grabs the phone. "Yo, this is Tony." Then the rest of his side of the conversation is composed of "I see," "Uh huh," and "Oh," in various orders. He says, "Yeah, I'll tell her." He hangs up and says, "That was for you."

"For me?" Who would be calling me here? Mother can be suspiciously psychic, but if she somehow tracked me down to Tony's hotel room, you'd think she'd insist on actually speaking to me.

"Yeah, I didn't want to have you talk to them because I thought at first it might be one of my teammates playing a joke."

"OK."  
"Angie, can you put on some more clothes?"

"Where are my clothes?"

"I put them in the top drawer of the dresser last night after, um, I took them off."

"Oh." Did more happen here than I know about? Exactly how far did we take it before he passed out?

He smiles a little. "I just undressed you. I didn't touch you beyond that. And then you must've found my jersey and put it on."

"Oh." I go over to the drawer and take out my golden disco dress, my golden beret, my golden purse, even my golden shoes.

"Oh, could you check in your purse for me?"

"What am I looking for?"

"You'll know when you see it."

I reach in and take out my lipstick, eyeliner, eyeshadow, and blush-on. He shakes his head. Then I take out my diaphragm case and I blush. (I don't really need blush-on around him, do I?) I open it and see that the diaphragm is still inside. Good thing we didn't have sex!

"I was gonna ask."

I shake my head. And then there's my wallet. I decide not to check it, since that might seem like I was accusing him of theft. Next is my room key. And at the bottom of the purse is a folded piece of paper.

"Yeah, that's probably it."

"It?"

He gestures for me to unfold it. So I do and in disbelief I see that it's a marriage certificate, officiated and witnessed in Las Vegas, Nevada on Thursday, September 28, 1978, between Angela Katherine Bower (née Robinson) and Anthony Morton Micelli.

"Morton?"

"Yeah, well."  
"We're married?"

"Uh, sort of."

"Sort of? Is this a joke license? Is that how you got me to come upstairs with you, by pretending to marry me?" I feel like some deceived virgin in a Victorian novel.

"No, of course not! From what I'm remembering now, I thought it was real, official. The thing is, there's a little complication."

"A little complication?"

"Yeah, um, that was the minister who married us just before midnight, and he went to turn in the paperwork at the Department of Records this morning, and, um, well, they said you're already married."

"Oh, not anymore."  
"Not anymore?"

"No, you see that's why I went to Reno. To get a quickie divorce. It takes forever in Connecticut. But it was official as of yesterday."

"Is this to that Michael Bower guy?"

"Yes, did I tell you about Michael?"

"I don't think so. But the minister just did. It seems that the Records people have been trying to get ahold of you. Your other marriage, your first marriage, never got dissolved."

"My first marriage," I say slowly. And then I murmur as if in a dream, "Brian. Brian Thomas."

"Yeah. It seems this Brian Thomas guy filed for an annulment in Mexico."

"Yes." We didn't actually have sex.

"But he filed it with the Mexican Bureau of Sanitation by mistake."

"Oh, Brian." I shake my head, both sadly and fondly.

"I'm guessing he doesn't speak much Spanish."

"No. And he's a poet, not very practical."

"Uh huh. So this was back in '69, right?"

"Yes."

"And you were married to Bower when?"

"'74 to, well, yesterday."

"Angie Baby, you're a bigamist! In fact, you might even be a polygamist, if I count."

I stare at him.

"So under the circumstances, I guess it's good we didn't have sex, huh?"


	2. The Sahara

I consider myself a pretty good judge of character, but I really had this Bower broad pegged wrong. She seemed shy and sweet last night, kind of innocent. But classy. So it was a triumph to get her up to my room. By morning, I'd forgotten I had to marry her first. And I didn't know that she'd been married twice before! In fact, she's still married. Possibly to both guys.

And to think I was hoping for a night with no complications, a little harmless Vegas fun. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas, but I get the feeling that this is one souvenir that I will be keeping for awhile. It's gonna make a hell of a confession to Father Marconi when I get back to Brooklyn.

She comes out of the bathroom in make-up and her clothes from last night. "My golden bride." I mean to sound bitter and angry, but it comes out sounding nice, affectionate. This lady may be a little crazy, but she is I think a lady.

She blushes. No one over fifteen should get away with blushing the way she does, but it makes me smile.

She hands me my jersey, neatly folded. I like that. "Thank you for, well, everything."

"Uh, you're welcome."

"I'll get things straightened out as best I can. I don't think you need to worry about it. We didn't, um, consummate, so I don't think you've broken any laws."

"Well, good. But what about you?"

She sighs. "I think if I explain the circumstances, the authorities should be lenient."  
"Um, do you want me to go with you?"

"Yes, thank you, if it's not too much trouble."

I shake my head. "What are husbands for?"

She smiles.

I almost take her arm on the way out, but let's not push this too far.

Out in the hallway she says, "I'm going to go down to my room and change into something more serious-looking."

"Good idea. Uh, is this OK?" I'm in jeans and a T-shirt.

"Well, do you have a suit and tie?"

"Of course I have a suit and tie! Whaddaya think, I'm a bum or somethin'?"

"I meant with you. Since you're on vacation."

"Yeah, I packed one nice suit. For just such an occasion as this."

"Good. How about we meet down in the lobby?"

"OK." I go back inside, put away the jersey and change. I get to the lobby before she does so I take a chair and wait. I hope she's not one of these chicks who takes forever to get ready. I bet she is.

I've only been sitting a minute when someone puts her hands over my eyes and says, "Guess who, Loverboy?" Oh no! Ohnoohnoohno!

Not only is the accent from a lot further south than Connecticut, but it belongs to the woman I stood up last night.

"Uh, Betty, about last night—"

"Let me guess. You got drunk with your buddies."

"Yeah, something like that."

"You're lucky I'm a forgivin' woman, Tony Micelli. But that doesn't mean you're not gonna have to earn my forgiveness."

Normally, that would be more of a promise than a threat, but unfortunately I'm not exactly able to offer restitution at this time.

"Tony?" Now that is definitely a Connecticut accent, with a dash of Madison Avenue.

"And who might you be?" Betty lifts her hands off my eyes and I can see Angela dressed very modestly in a gray business suit with a long skirt, unlike Betty, who is in a short, tight red dress.

"I'm Angela Bower."

"Angela Micelli," I correct her hastily, getting to my feet.

Both women stare at me.

"You're married? Sugar, you told me you're a widower now!"

"I am. And I wasn't married when we last—um, I mean."

"We got married last night," Angela says surprisingly calmly.

"Oh, well, what a surprise! Congratulations, I guess."

"Thank you."  
"You don't mind if I kiss the groom, do you?"

"Help yourself."

Betty gives me one of her usual huge smooches, making my knees go weak and my brain go numb. When she's done, I look over at my "wife," who seems much more amused than jealous.

"Tony Dear, we have that appointment, remember?"

"Yeah, right. Sorry to rush off, Betty, but you know how it is when you've just gotten married. So many things to take care of."  
"Actually, I wouldn't know, Tony. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride." She simpers.

Angela has an expression on her face like she can't imagine any bride asking Betty to be part of her wedding party.

"Nice meeting you, Angela. See you around, Tony. Or not, as the case may be." She flounces over to the elevators and gets in as soon as one arrives.

"What on earth was that?" Angela asks.

"That, My Sweet Wifey, was the reason I was drunk last night."

"I see," Angela says, as if she doesn't.

I sigh. "Come on, I'll tell you along the way."

We go outside and I hail a taxi. We get in and ask to be taken to the Department of Records.

"Well?" Angela prompts.

It won't be easy to talk about, particularly to a classy if polyandrous woman like Angela, especially with the cabbie pretending not to listen, but I'll do my best to explain how I'm both drawn to and scared of Betty. But first I'll have to talk about how confused I've felt since I lost Marie six months ago.

"I got married real young. I was 19, she was 18."

"I was 18 when I married Brian. He was older of course, but not very mature."

"Yeah, I gathered that. Anyway, I was—" I sigh. "I was crazy about Marie. It was a real love match. We eloped. And we were so happy together. And we had a little girl."

"Yes, you mentioned your daughter."  
"Yeah, Samantha. She's six. You wanna see a picture?"

"Of course."

So I get out my wallet and show her the latest picture, with a couple teeth missing.

"She's adorable!"

"Thanks. She looks like Marie. But she's taking after me in sports already. We play softball whenever I'm home."

"That's nice." She sighs. "Do you want to see a picture of my son?"

"You have a son?"

"Yes. Hold on." She digs through the gold purse, the only part of last night's outfit she kept. She takes out her wallet and flips it open to a picture of a cute little toddler with a blond bowl-cut.

"You don't have a more recent picture?"

"That is recent. Mother just sent it last week."

"He's what, two?"

"Two and a half."  
"And you're getting divorced?"

She frowns and puts her wallet away. "You wouldn't say that if you knew Michael."

"Yeah, but divorce. Angela, how can you do that to your son? He'll grow up without his father!"

"He's doing that anyway. Michael is hardly ever home."

"I'm not home as much as I'd like to be, but I spend every minute with Sam I can."

"That's nice, Tony," she says coldly.

"Look, I don't mean to be judgmental, but you're not even thirty yet, and you've already had two divorces."

"Well, it'll be three once I'm rid of you."

"No way! I'm Catholic. I can't get divorced. Besides, I thought we agreed to an annulment since we didn't—Goddamnit, will you keep your eyes on the road, Buddy?" I snap at the cabbie.

He chuckles but pretends to focus on his driving.

"Tell me more about Marie," Angela says gently, surprising me.

I sigh. "Well, you know how it is, you think it's forever when you get married. But she got sick and, well, she's gone." I don't want to cry in front of this stranger, but I think I might.

"I got Kleenex in the glove box, if you want some, Mister. Let me just wait for the next red light."

"No thanks."

But Angela reaches into her bag and takes out an unused tissue.

"Thanks," I say as I take it. Then I dab my eyes. "Sorry about this. I don't talk about it much since it happened. I don't want to be talking about it now."

"Do you want to tell me about Betty?"

"Who's Betty?" the cabbie wants to know.

"Do you mind?"

He chuckles again but says, "It's OK. We're here."

Angela pays the fare and the tip. Normally, I'd be a gentleman about it, but this is sort of her journey. I'm just along for the ride. OK, obviously I have more than a casual interest in her marital status, but it won't change my life as much as hers if it turns out she's married to me, too. As far as I'm concerned, Marie is the only true wife I'll ever have, or want to have.

We go in and, after a lot of waiting, the clerk explains in more detail what the minister told me on the phone. With the bureaucracy of Mexico City mixed in with the sloppiness of Vegas (where they see a lot of quickie weddings, although not usually quite so soon after a Reno divorce), it took them awhile to match up the Angela Robinsons. And apparently Connecticut didn't check with Nevada when she married Bower a few years after Thomas. The Vegas Records Department tried to get in touch with her at her hotel in Reno, but by then she was already in her rental car heading south to Vegas, and it's not like she had a car phone like a millionaire. "Luckily" we got married, so that told them she was in Vegas and they hoped to track her down. The minister remembered us mentioning we were both staying at the Sahara, so he said he'd call and break it to us, "so it wouldn't be coming from a stranger."

And here we are.

"So what do I do next?"

I look at Angela in surprise. I half expected her to be in tears, but she sounds calm, rational, business-like. I guess it's true, you never really know your spouse till they're tested by adversity.

"Well, contacting Mr. Thomas would be a start. And we'll continue our correspondence with Mexico, but it may take awhile. What's the best way to contact you?"

She gives them her address and phone number back in Connecticut. She lives in Fairfield, a very WASPY town from what I've heard, which is appropriate. Boy, wait till Pop hears I married a blonde WASP from Connecticut! (OK, she's got black roots, but still.)

We both shake hands with the clerk. He seems like a nice guy, and we probably made his morning a little more interesting.

"So what next?" I ask her when we step out into the sunshine.

"I'm going to drive my rental car to San Francisco. That's where Brian moved after the 'divorce.' Hopefully, he's still there."

"Uh, if you've got a rental car, why did we come here in a cab?"

"I've still got a little bit of a hangover. Besides, you hailed the taxi before I could say anything."

"Oh. Sorry."

"That's all right."

"Should I hail that one coming up the road?"

"Yes, thank you."

So I do and we get in. But this time we don't talk much. She's understandably lost in her thoughts. As for me, I'm not sure what to do. In a way, she's a damsel in distress, but she's also a very sensible dame when she's not drunk. She can probably take care of herself from here on out.

When we get back to the hotel, I'm about to wish her goodbye and good luck, when a couple of my teammates rush over and pour champagne on my head!

"So that's where you slipped off to last night, you dog you!" Mike says.

"That was a hell of an excuse for standing up Betty!" Davey says, shaking his head. "But if she could forgive you, I guess we can."

"So this is your new old lady, huh?"

"Um, yeah, this is Angela."

"Pleased to meet you," she says, taking all this in stride.

"Classy dame, Tony!" Davey says in a loud whisper. "So that's what it takes to trap Batman, huh?"

"Batman?" she mouths.

I shake my head. I am not explaining that one.

"Mrs. Micelli, would you mind if we borrow your husband for a few hours?"

"Yeah, we need to give this guy a belated bachelor party."

Yeah, I can just imagine what they'd do for me in Vegas. Betty popping out of a cake would probably be one of the milder events. "Uh, gee, Guys, that's nice of you, but I'm afraid Angela and I already have plans."

They nudge each other and laugh in a really filthy way.

"Yes, we're honeymooning in San Francisco."

I stare at her.

"Oo, Frisco! Nice!" Mike says.

"Uh, yeah, and we're leaving today," I say, like we've already talked this out.

"Oh, that's too bad. Will you at least say goodbye before you go?"

"Yeah, of course, Davey."

"Excuse us, we have to go call my mother and tell her the good news." Angela bats her eyes and smiles like a shy virgin.

The guys don't make fun of her for that. After all, "Mom" is right up there with baseball and apple pie. So they just slap my back a few times and then let us escape to the elevator.

When the doors shut, she says, "I really do need to call her."

"Uh, are you sure this is good news she should know?"

She shakes her head. "Believe me, I wouldn't tell her if I didn't have to. But it looks like I'm going to be unavoidably detained for an indefinite period."

"Yeah. Uh, do you really want me to go with you to Frisco?"

"Well, you didn't look like you were feeling up to a bachelor party. And it would be nice to have someone to split the driving."

"Yeah, OK." Neither of us discusses the fact that we will be spending more time in each other's company than we anticipated. But I want to go. I grin. "A road trip. Sounds fun."

"Yes." She smiles back. "And it's a convertible."

"Nice!"

When we get to her floor, I say, "Um, would you mind if I change again? I don't think you want to spend eight or nine hours sitting next to a guy who smells like champagne, even in a convertible."

"Oh, I don't know. It matches your bubbly personality."

I laugh. Not many girls can tell corny jokes.

She kisses my cheek. "See you in a bit, Darling." Then she steps out of the elevator.

"Yes, Dear," I say as the doors shut.


	3. Calling Mother

"Mother, I can't finish this story if you don't stop laughing."

"I'm sorry, Dear. Go on. You woke up in nothing but a St. Louis Cardinals jersey and then a gorgeous naked man walked in with aspirin."

"Well, then he offered me the—"

"When you say gorgeous, what exactly do you mean? Paul Newman gorgeous? Robert Redford gorgeous? Burt Reynolds gorgeous? Or Telly Savalas gorgeous?"

"Sort of Sylvester Stallone gorgeous, but with a more boyish face. With maybe a touch of John Travolta around the hair."

"Mmm, nice. So he's Italian?"

"Yes. Tony Micelli." I withhold the Morton. She'd never stop laughing.

"Angela Micelli. That's better than Angela Bower, more musical."

"Or than Angela Thomas."

"Excuse me?"

I sigh and then explain, to much shock and amusement how, over Spring Break of my freshman year of college, I ran off for a Vegas weekend with Brian Thomas the poet. She's never heard of him, although he has achieved some success over the last almost decade. (I saw a collection of his poems in a bookstore a couple years back, but I didn't buy it. I was afraid it wouldn't live up to my memories.)

When I get to the part about the Mexican Bureau of Sanitation, she's laughing helplessly. I suppose I would, too, if this had happened to someone else.

When she calms down, she says, "So let me get this straight. You've had two unconsummated Vegas weddings, one to a sensitive, romantic poet with a mustache who swept you off your feet, and the other to an earthy but nice, gorgeous Italian athlete?"

"Well, yes."

"Are you sure we're related?"

"It's not my fault!" I say defensively. "I mean about them not being consummated. Brian spent the night drinking and gambling, while I watched TV. And by the morning we realized we'd made a mistake."

"And with Tony?"

I blush and am glad she can't see me. "Well, we'd both been drinking, even before we met up. I was celebrating being free of Michael, and he, he had his own reasons for drinking." I don't want to tell her about Marie, or Betty. (Not that I know exactly what happened there, not yet. But maybe I'll find out on the road trip.) "And, um, he passed out last night before we could do anything."

"So why was he naked and why were you almost naked?"

"He claims he undressed me but didn't do anything to me."

"And you believed him?"

I guess it's a sign of my naïveté that I didn't question his story. Then again, you'd think he'd want to claim we had gone to bed and he'd been wonderful, especially if he was trying to get me to have sex with him this morning.

"He has an honest face."

"Uh huh."

"Besides, Mother, I don't feel like I've had sex."

"OK, you're the expert on celibacy I suppose."

"Mother."

"So why didn't you do Tony before you got the phone call?"

"I was tempted but he's a stranger. It'd be one thing to be swept away in drunken passion and quite another to succumb in the sober light of day."

"Well, I guess it's a relief to find out that you haven't completely changed, polygamy or not."

"Anyway, Mother, the next step is to track down Brian. So we'll be leaving in about—"

"We?"

"Um, well, Tony has offered to share the driving."

"Interesting. Why don't you just fly to San Francisco?"

"Well, as long as I have the rental car I thought—"

"And is your 'new husband' going along just to spell you at driving, or does he have other motives?"

"I told you, he's just very nice."

"Uh huh. Angela, nice is letting you have the aspirin first when you're hungover. I think he's going beyond nice now. Unless he's got ulterior motives."

"Mother, why do you always assume the worst of people?"

"I didn't say they were bad ulterior motives. Maybe he wants to be there on the spot as soon as it's safe to have sex with you without it meaning a lifetime commitment."  
"Mother, you're twisting around this whole situation."

"Oh, yes, because this is just your standard courtship."  
"It's not a court—"

Someone knocks.

"Oo, is that Hubby?"

"Probably."

"Can I talk to him?"

"Of course not."

"Selfish. Well, I'll meet him when he comes to visit you."

I don't know if Tony and I will actually date when we're both on the East Coast again. So much has happened, so much been revealed, since we discussed casual dating. I guess we'll see how things go on the road trip, and how my divorces turn out.

"Hold on." I set down the phone and open the door to Tony. He's carrying a suitcase and wearing a T-shirt and jeans again, a nice look for him. The suit was nice, too. Poor man, I hope he can get the champagne stains and smell out.

"How's the 'Hey, Ma, guess what?' conversation goin'?"

I laugh. I suppose that's what a Brooklyn girl would say. I wave him in and shut the door behind him. "About as well as could be expected."

"You want me to talk to her?"

"No!"

"OK, OK. Most girls' mothers like me, ya know."

"I don't think you're ready for my mother. She's not like other people's mothers."

"Well, she certainly raised a unique daughter."

"I'm not sure that's a compliment."  
"Neither am I."

The air sizzles between us in a different way than it did in bed. Lord knows I've had my share of verbal sparring with Michael, but I've never experienced anything close to this. Is it bantering, is it bickering? What is this?

"Angela?" I hear Mother summoning me from across the country.

"Excuse me."  
"Of course."

He sets down his suitcase as if this will take awhile, but I really do need to wrap things up soon so we can get on the road. Plus, I feel much more inhibited now that he's here, and I'm less likely to spill my guts to Mother.

I go back to the phone and the first thing I hear is, "He sounds gorgeous!"

I wonder how she determines that. I guess I would have to close my eyes when he speaks, to separate his voice out. Other than the accent, there's the deepness and sometimes warmth or even heat. But maybe it's just that I've described him as looking gorgeous, so now his voice is associated with the mental image I've given her.

"Well, yes, be that as it may, I'll let you know when I'm heading home—"

"Don't you mean 'we'?"

I haven't yet let myself imagine the journey home. I was actually hoping I'd fly back, and maybe Tony would be kind enough to drive the car back to Reno. But that would probably be asking too much.

"We'll see. I mean, I'll see. Anyway, give my love to Jonathan and—"

"Do you want me to put him on?"

I'm tempted. I haven't heard my little boy's voice in a week. But the last thing I need is for either of us to start crying, like last time. He doesn't understand why Mommy isn't home, and I wish so much I could be.

"No, let's wait till I call when my plans are more definite."

"But don't you think he should talk to his new stepdaddy? After all, according to Freud—"

"Goodbye, Mother."

"All right, Dear. I can see you're eager for your 'road trip.' " The woman has a Mae-Westian ability to make the most innocent phrase sound dirty.

"Yes, goodbye then." I hang up before she can get another zinger in.

"Who's Jonathan?"

"My son. She's helping my housekeeper look after him while I'm gone."

I wait for him to criticize me for leaving my baby in other people's care, but instead he gently says, "You miss him, don't ya?"

I nod. "We've never been apart so long. But I had to think about what's best for both of us in the long run. I know you think divorce is horrible, but I'd rather do this now than be miserable with his father for the rest of our lives."

Instead of replying to that, he asks, "You packed yet?"

"I didn't unpack much. Just give me a moment."

"You want any help?"

"Yes, thank you, that's nice of you."

He shrugs. "I'm a nice guy."

"Yes, I've noticed."

We smile at each other, and then we pack up the few things I've used in the eventful few hours I've been in Vegas.

He folds my clothes neatly and he also gets my suitcases closed. I almost say something about him being handy to have around the house, but I don't want him to think I'm thinking of him as a husband now.

We almost make it out of the hotel without his friends catching us in the lobby. We let them treat us at the bar, although we insist that the drinks be non-alcoholic, since we will be driving. (Plus, I don't think we trust ourselves to be drunk around each other again.)

Betty flirts with Tony, although she says things like, "You don't mind, do you, Sugar? After all, you won him."

I just shrug and drink more of my Shirley Temple. It's funny to watch Tony. I've never seen a man so simultaneously turned on and scared.

As we wait for the valet to bring my car around, I ask, "What did that woman do to you?"

He shakes his head. "Let's save that for the open road, shall we?"

"OK, if we get bored spotting license plates."

He laughs.

Tony looks surprised when he sees the pink Lincoln. "This isn't exactly what I pictured as your style."

I shrug. "I figured it would be fine for the post-divorce trip to Vegas."

"What will Brian, Brian Thomas say when you pull up in that?"

I don't want to talk about the person I was with Brian, not yet. "Let's see if he's even still in San Francisco."

"Angela, isn't this kind of a wild goose chase?"

"Well, if he's not living there anymore, there may be people who know where he is. And I assume he's not dead, unless the paperwork just hasn't caught up with Vegas yet."

"That's a cheerful thought to start our trip on."

I smile. "Come on, let's hit the road."

We agreed that I'll do the first leg of driving, so he takes the passenger's seat and I get in the driver's seat. We both put on our sunglasses and then smile at each other. Then I turn on the radio and it's playing "Born to Be Wild." We grin and then we set out on this crazy journey.


	4. Empty Road

The Doobie Brothers' "Rockin' Down the Highway" is on the radio and Angela is driving faster than I'd have expected, even if the road is clear. Our hair, hers layered and full, mine wavy and full, floats in the breeze. My heart feels lighter than it has in months.

And then she says, "So tell me about Betty."

"Oh, look, Iowa! 50 points."

"All right, if you don't want to talk about your groupies—"

"Well, she's more than a groupie."  
"A girlfriend?"

"No, definitely not a girlfriend."

"I see."

"You really wanna know? You won't get jealous?"

"Jealous? I don't have a claim on you."

"Well, that's up to the great state of Nevada, isn't it?"

"I mean an emotional claim, not a legal one."

"Right. Well, Betty was after me for a long time, even before Marie died."  
"Yes, I got the impression she doesn't exactly respect the institution of marriage."

"Well, she respects it to a point. She won't sleep with a married guy."

"But she'll flirt with and kiss him?"  
"Yeah. But I wouldn't let her kiss me."

"Did you flirt back?"

"A little. I'm a flirty guy."

"I see."  
"I mean, light flirting. Being charming."

"Is that an Italian thing?"

"I guess, maybe. Not all Italian guys are as charming as I am." She laughs and I shake my head. "That came out wrong."

"Go on."

"Well, when Marie died, I was a mess. Not that I'm in great shape now. Mentally and emotionally I mean. But right after, well, it was like my world ended. Yeah, I still had Sam and my career, and I knew I had to keep living for my little girl's sake. But I didn't really care about anything. And then Betty was there with—"

"A shoulder to cry on?"

"Not exactly. And anyway, I had my dad and he knew what it was like to lose your wife when she's too young. Mom was in her 20s, too, when she went. I was 7."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well, anyway, it wasn't sympathy that Betty offered. It was an escape. When I was with her, I didn't think. I mean, it was just about living in my body."

"And in hers?"

I cough. "Anyway, she's amazing. She pushed buttons in me I didn't know I had."

"So why didn't you just ditch me this morning? And why were you avoiding her last night?"

"Well, I promised I'd go with you to the Department of Records. As for why I was avoiding her, I don't know. Maybe it's that I don't like someone having that much power over my body, over me. I mean, normally when you have great sex, you know how you lose your mind a little?"

"Um, yes."

I look at her more closely. "Oh God, Baby, I'm sorry! I didn't know!"

She doesn't look at me, just at the empty road stretching ahead. "I've had the Big O."

"But it's never been a big Big O, has it? Dammit, he never gave you multiples, did he? Is that why you left him?"

"OK, this conversation is getting far too personal, even for a married couple."

"Sorry." I wait a minute and then I can't help saying, "I promise I'll give you multiples when we go to bed."

"Oh, are we still going to bed?"

"Well, yeah, if we like each other enough when we actually go out. Unless you don't want to no more."

"I'm, I'm not sure. I'm a little confused by recent events."

I snort. "Yeah, I don't blame ya. Anyway, back to Betty." (Suddenly, that's the easier topic.) "It's normal to lose yourself a little in sex. That's part of the fun. But with her, it was different, like I was her love slave."

"Was she kinky?"

I stare at her, but she's still looking at the road. "Did you just say 'kinky'?"

"Yes, Tony," she says impatiently. "Was she into sex games? You know, M & Ms."

Oh God, I'm glad I'm not the one driving. I start laughing so hard that I'd definitely get us in a wreck, even if there's not much out here to hit.

"I don't see what's so funny. I'm not as naïve as you think. I've read things, Tony."  
"I'm sure you have, Angie. But it's S & M, not M & Ms."

"Oh." She blushes. "That's right."

"You are really cute when you blush."

She blushes more. "I have never blushed around anyone as much as I have around you. Michael thought it made me look blotchy."  
"Well, I think we've established by now that Michael is an idiot."

She smiles a little. "Yes, not my favorite ex-husband."

"Am I?"

"You are a little flirty, aren't you?"

"That was a serious question."

"I'm not even sure if you're my ex or my husband, or neither, so I'm not going to answer that."

"OK, fair enough. So tell me about your first husband."

"I told you, not while I'm driving."

"Then what do you want to talk about?"

"Work?"

"You don't know nothin' about sports."

"You could still tell me about it. How did you get interested in baseball?"

"God, I don't remember a time when I didn't play. My old man and I would play catch before I could walk."

"Is that what you did with your daughter?"

I smile. "Yeah, Sammy. Marie teased that I was making a tomboy out of Sam, but she didn't really mind. We thought back then we'd have a son eventually." I frown and then sigh. "Anyway, I've always loved baseball. I grew up playing sandlot. Other sports, too. But that was my first love. And I was good. I am good. And by the time I was in high school, I saw it as my ticket out of Brooklyn."

"Were you poor?"

I look at her. She didn't say that with phony rich-girl pity or slumming rich-girl glee. She just said it like one friend to another.

"Yeah, I guess, in some ways. We had what we needed. We weren't starving, but there were no luxuries."

"I had luxuries," she says without bragging. "We weren't rich by Connecticut standards, but we were definitely comfortable.

"Did you have any brothers or sisters?"

"No. Did you?"

"Nah. But lots of cousins and other relatives. You know Italians, extended family."

"That sounds nice."

"It was. Anyway, I used to envy the guys I'd see heading to Brooklyn College, but I knew that wasn't for me."

"Why not? Couldn't you have gotten a scholarship?"

"My grades weren't good enough. And I'd skipped a grade but then had to repeat a grade. Anyway, baseball's been good to me. And I just love it as a sport, the money aside."

"What will you do when you retire?"

"Angela, I'm 26. That's a long way off."

"You're 26?"

"Yeah, how old are you?"

"Um, 28."

I grin. "You're not too old for me."

"Well, thank you."

"Actually, the first girl I kissed was two years older than I was."

"And how old were you?"

"Eleven."  
"Eleven?! You had your first kiss at eleven?"

"Yeah. How old were you?"

"I was thirteen."  
"Just like she was. At least I assume it was her first kiss. She was kind of shy and awkward. On the other hand, she was an amazing kisser. She could've won the Kissing Olympics."

"Free-style or synchronized?"

I laugh. "You are a very sharp cookie. I'm not used to women as witty as you."

"Thank you. You're pretty clever yourself, college-educated or not."

"Aw, shucks, Ma'am. So tell me about the world of advertising."

She laughs. But she does tell me about it. It's not really something I've thought about before, any more than she's thought about sports. I think of ads as something to switch off, but she explains how she gets people to watch them.

"That was yours?"

"Uh huh."  
"Damn, Woman, you are clever!"

She blushes again. "Thank you."

"So how did you get interested in advertising? Did your mother sing you jingles for lullabies?"

"No."

"Oh, sorry. I mean your governess."

She blushes again.

"I'm sorry." This time I'm not teasing.

"It's all right. My mother is not the most practical person."

I feel like I've missed a transition, but I don't say anything because the tone of her voice tells me she's about to say something very personal.

"When my father died, I took care of everything. She was madly in love with him and she just fell apart."

"I fell apart when Marie died."

"Not like this. You still went about your life. I paid the bills and saw that things got done. I was the grown-up. I was 14."

"I'm sorry, Angie."

"Thank you. I didn't, and don't, blame my mother. She was raised to be gracious and decorative. But I knew I didn't want a life like that. I wanted to take care of myself. Which is fortunate, since Michael wasn't the most responsible person."

Ah, we've crossed over onto the subject of her least favorite ex. I'm not sure how to switch the subject back to our professions.

"But long before I met him, I decided that I'd go into business. Do something practical. And then I met Brian, and he unleashed a side of me." She sighs and I wonder if she's going to talk about her passionate first husband. Except, they didn't have sex, right? "I'd always loved literature, and he was a poet. I fell in love with words even more than with him. So advertising seemed like the best way to acknowledge both sides of myself. Although I'm sure Brian would look down on me as a sell-out if he knew."

"When did you guys last talk?"

"I haven't heard from him since he told me he'd done the paperwork for our divorce."

"Oh."  
"Anyway, I started out as a copywriter. I've worked my way up to the head of my department. And maybe someday, hopefully before I hit 35, I'll be vice-president. Well, one of the vice-presidents."

"It sounds like a big agency."

"It is. Wallace and McQuade is the fifteenth largest advertising agency in the country."

"You are amazing," I murmur.

"I am?"

"Yeah. You've got all these sides to you. And not many women are as ambitious as you are."

She frowns. "Michael thinks I'm too ambitious."

"And what does he do for a living? Not another poet I hope."

"No. He's a documentary film-maker. Wildlife mostly. That's why he travels so much."

"Ah." I almost say, "And he leaves a babe like you at home?" But I left Marie at home, and she was just as beautiful, if not as multi-faceted

"Anyway, it's not easy being a woman in the advertising world, but I'll spare you the feminist rant."

"Thank you."

"Did Marie work?"

"Well, she was a housewife. She never wanted an outside job, and I made enough to support a family."  
"There's nothing wrong with that. It's just not how I wanted to live."

"Yeah." I wonder what it would be like to have a working wife. But then who would've stayed home with Sam? It's not like we could've afforded a housekeeper! Luckily, I don't have to pay Mrs. Rossini. And Pop helps out of course.

"Have you noticed?"

"What?"

"The radio faded out."

I smile. "Yeah, we might not get another signal till we get closer to L.A."

"I'm enjoying talking to you."

"Yeah, you're a good road trip buddy."

"Thank you. So should we start the sing-along?"

"Uh, sure."

It's a relief to find out she can't sing. I was starting to think this woman was too perfect. Still, I can't say it's not fun belting out "Cumbaya" with her.

"I learned that at camp," she says.

"Yeah, me, too."

"Where'd you go? I went to a camp in Maine."  
"My Y Camp was in Maine. In fact, that's where I had my first kiss."

"You went to a co-ed Y Camp?"

"No, there was a girls' camp across the lake. We called them Camp Stuck-Up. But my girl—well, not 'my girl' but the girl I kissed—she wasn't a snob. Kind of sweet actually. I cut my teeth on her braces, but it was worth—Why are you stopping the car in the middle of nowhere?"

"Anthony, what was her name?"

"Jesus, I don't know! That was fifteen years ago! And I told you to call me Tony. Almost no one calls me Anthony."  
"Did she?"

"Well, yeah."

"Did you by any chance call her Ingrid?"

I stare at her. "Yeah, I think I did. How did you know that?"

"I think you'd better do the next leg of driving."


	5. Barstow to Bakersfield

We won't actually go through L.A. We argue over the route until he says, "We sound like an old married couple," and I reply, "Well, what do you expect after fifteen years," and then we both laugh.

Anyway, I get us to Barstow and then we take a lunch break. We skipped breakfast but both our stomachs are feeling much better now.

"So you're her," he says before taking a bite out of his meatloaf sandwich.

"Her?"

He swallows. "You know."

I smile. "The great kisser?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, you're currently a great kisser, but you started out well. If you are her."

We compared details, and our stories are very much alike, including the time-frame.

"Maybe. But I guess we'll never know for sure."

"We could go to Make-Out Rock."  
"Kissing Rock. And what, kiss again?"

"If you want. But I mean I carved her name, or what I thought was her name, into the Rock."

"Oh, Tony, that's so sweet!"

"Yeah, well."

"I guess that makes up for you lying about your age."

"I didn't think she, you, would kiss me if you knew what a cradle-robber you were."

"Probably not. I remember he, you, being shorter than I was. But I was tall for my age."

"Yeah, she was tall."

"Do you really want to go back and find out?"

"Yeah, it can be our next road trip."

I shake my head. "This has been a very weird day so far."

"Yeah. You know, you lied, too. About your name."

"I didn't want you to kiss and tell."

"Oh."

"You told, didn't you?"

"Um, well, sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Actually, here's the funny part. My buddy timed us."  
"Timed us?!"

"Yeah, so I could win my bet."

"You kissed me on a bet?"

"Well, yeah, that was the original motivation, but I liked kissing you for its own sake."

"How flattering." Suddenly, I'm not that hungry.

"Aww, come on, Ingrid," he teases.

I shake my head. "I bet Marie had a very hard time staying mad at you."

"Yeah, she did," he says quietly.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's OK. I don't mind talking to you about her. Or about anything."

I nod. "I know. Even if we weren't each other's first kiss, I feel like there's a strange connection between us."

"Well, that's up to the great state of Nevada."

I laugh. "Yes." I resume eating my macaroni.

After we eat (he pays), we go back to the car and he says he'll do the next leg, to Bakersfield.

"I've never seen California like this. I just come here for games and I don't travel around to all the little towns."

I nod. "I've been to advertising conventions in L.A., but nothing like this."

"Well, wait till we get to Frisco. We'll paint the town red."

"While looking for my first husband?"

He shrugs. "We can do both at the same time."

I wonder but don't ask exactly how long he imagines we'll be staying in San Francisco. Even if it's just through the weekend, it does bring up the question that I probably should've considered when I invited him: what will our sleeping arrangements be? Obviously, we'll need to stay in the same hotel in order to coordinate our search, but the same room? Do I trust him enough? Do I trust myself? After all, he's far less of a stranger than he was when we woke up. Not that he was as much of a stranger as I thought at the time, whether or not he is indeed the Anthony who gave me my first (and very lovely) kiss. And whether or not he is my latest husband.

After we've been driving awhile, he says, "So tell me about Brian, Brian Thomas."

"I already did."

"Nah, you told me how he fit into your career choice. Tell me how you two got married."

I sigh. I kept this secret for almost a decade, and here I am about to tell a second person today. Hopefully, he'll react better than Mother did. The thing is, I need to start further back in time, since he doesn't know what I was like in the years after my (our?) first kiss.

"Well, when I met Brian, I was very innocent and inexperienced. I didn't have much luck with boys in the years after I kissed Anthony." I think of many stories I could relate to illustrate this. Tony is easy to talk to, and he seems like someone I could tell anything, no matter how embarrassing. But, even if we've got hours ahead of us, I don't feel like getting into things like being stood up for prom or tumbling down the stairs and out of a ball gown.

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you. I went into a very awkward phase, especially after my father died. I used food for comfort and I was very fat in high school. And I still had the braces and the mousy brown hair and the acne."

"Brown hair? Then you're not her. My first kiss was from a tall, skinny blonde."

I shake my head. "I was a tall, skinny blonde that summer. One of the girls in my bunkhouse got me to try peroxide."

"Ah."

"I didn't dye my hair again till college. But I was still fat and acned, although the braces had come off by then. It didn't help that I had a gorgeous, popular mother and a gorgeous, popular roommate."

"What did your mom look like?"

"She was and is a voluptuous redhead."

"Hey, not every guy goes for that type."

"Uh huh." I remember quite clearly the effect Betty had on him.

"Hey, who am I sitting in this car with?"

"Well, anyway, I didn't date much more in college than I had in high school. But one night I went to a poetry reading and Brian was there and I was utterly smitten. To my surprise, he returned my interest. And one night at his place, we drank some wine and he read me a poem he'd written especially for me. We got very flirty and it led to, well." I blush.

"What?" He seems to be trying to hide his eager curiosity.

"Footsies!"

"Oh." He sounds disappointed.

"Have you ever had footsies, Tony?" I tease.

"Well, yeah, of course, but it never did nothin' for me."  
"When we go on our date, I'll give you footsying you'll never forget!"

"Uh, thanks."

Then I can't help it. I slip off my sandals and move my left foot onto his leg. It's not easy doing this sitting next to him, but I slip it under the right cuff of his jeans.

"Mmm, your toes are warm," he murmurs.

"Thank you." Then I slip my foot out and move it along the outside of the left leg of his jeans. I have to turn in my seat and be a bit acrobatic. It's tempting to undo my seatbelt, but I'm probably risking a road accident as it is.

I watch his face as I move up from his calf to his knee and then his thigh. His nostrils are flaring and he keeps swallowing. Finally he exclaims, "Jesus, Woman, I'm tryin' to drive here!"

I smile and move my feet back into the sandals. "Nothin', huh?"

He shakes his head. "No wonder Brian carried you off to Vegas."

"Well, I stayed below the knee on him. But, yes, we ran off during Spring Break."  
"And you two didn't, I mean, it was an annulment, right?"

I blush a little. "Well, yes. He got caught up in the gambling and drinking and it was late when he came back to our room. And by morning we realized that we weren't ready for marriage. So we never, um."

"That doesn't seem like much to found bigamy on."

I laugh. "No, I guess it doesn't."

"But if that marriage counts, doesn't ours? I mean, we've at least seen each other naked."

I blush. "Yes. That's one of the things I'll have to sort out. As well as how my marriage to Michael—which most definitely was consummated—fits in."

"You have a son," he says suddenly.

"Yes, I do."  
"Does this make him, um?"

"Oh. I suppose it does." It's hard to think of my child as "illegitimate."

"Well, these days I guess it doesn't matter as much as it used to."

"Perhaps not. At least he's too young to care one way or the other."

He shakes his head. "Do you realize if you'd gone for a Connecticut divorce from Bower, you still wouldn't know you're married to this Thomas guy?"

"Yes, and if I hadn't celebrated my Reno divorce in Las Vegas, I'd never have met and married you."

"I'm glad we met."

I smile. "Me, too. But how did we end up getting married?"

"I've been trying to remember. You were sitting at the bar and I came over and started flirting with you. We talked awhile and then we went dancing."

"And then you invited me up to your room!" I suddenly remember.

"Oh." He frowns, trying to recall the rest. "Yeah, and you said, 'What kind of girl do you think I am?' "

"And you said, 'An irresistible one.' "

He blushes a little. "Oh, right. Then you accused me of handing you a line, so I said, 'Oh, yeah? I'd marry you right now if you wanted.' "

"Right! And I called your bluff, so we went looking for an all-night chapel."

"And we found one. Apparently."

"Yes. Tony, I don't want you to think I'm in the habit of Vegas weddings."

"Well, I've had one myself, so I can't really judge you."

"Yes. It all seemed so logical last night."

"Yeah. 'The girl wants me to prove I'm serious. OK, I'll prove it.' "

"Obviously, if we'd have been sober, we'd never have done it."

"Right. We'd just met. And besides, you just got divorced. You wouldn't want to get tied down again right away."

"Right," I say quietly. "And you, you're obviously still mourning Marie."  
"Yeah. I mean, fooling around's one thing, but I feel like it would be insulting her memory to get married again so soon, especially like that."

"But, Tony, nonetheless, I think we may be married."

He shakes his head. "Great, I'm married to a divorced Protestant."

"No, I'm not divorced yet."

"You're divorced from Bower. Whether or not you needed to be."  
"Oh, right." I shake my head. "It's hard to keep track of this."

"Yeah, I feel like I'm dating Liz Taylor between Richard Burton marriages!"

I laugh, then I look at him more closely. "Are we dating?"

He shrugs. "Semantics."

I nod. There's no good term for whatever the heck we are to each other and whatever the heck we're doing together.

"Say, listen, are you in a hurry to get to Frisco?"

"Well, no, not a hurry. Otherwise, it might've made more sense to fly."

"Yeah. I was just thinkin', it'd take longer to do the coastal route, but wouldn't it be prettier?"

I smile. "I've always wanted to go to Monterey. And Carmel."

"Me, too. And there's probably some good scenery south of that."

I get out the map of California we picked up in Barstow. "Yes, if we go, not quite due west since that's not possible, but as much straight west from Bakersfield as we can, then we'll hit the coast at a little town called Harmony."

He smiles. "Nice. How long would that route take us to get to Frisco?"

"Maybe nine hours after Bakersfield."

"Well, we're coming up on Bakersfield now. What time is it?"  
"Almost three o'clock."

"Oh. Uh, we might have to stay over someplace along the coast. Would that be OK?"  
"That sounds lovely," I murmur.  
"Uh, Angie, it's gonna have to be separate rooms. You know we can't, well, you know."

I laugh. "Last night you married me for sex, and now you can't have sex with me because we're married."

"Right. We'd have to get divorced first."

"But you're Catholic."  
"All right, annulled, whatever. But we can't stay married and it's going to make it harder to end it if we, you know. Not just harder legally, but in my church."

"Right. Who knew Vegas weddings were so complicated?"

"I think most people's aren't as complicated as yours, Baby."


	6. Coastal Route

"Oh, Tony, it's beautiful!"

I take her hand and squeeze it.

It turns out that Harmony is tiny, like 20 people! And it's not exactly right by the water. But it got us close enough to the Pacific that we found our way here. And it's not that we've never seen this ocean before, but we've never seen it like this, as if we're the only two people looking at it.

"Thank you for suggesting the coastal route."

"You bet." I'm trying not to cry. Why do I feel so choked up? Is it this ocean? Is it this woman? What's going on here?

"I'm glad we got here by sunset."

"Me, too."  
"Are you OK with night-driving?"

"It's fine. I've at least got to get us to a town big enough to have a hotel."

"I wish we could sleep here on the beach."

I do, too, but that would be unwise, for many reasons. "Some other road trip."

She nods and smiles. We go back to the car and I take the wheel. We've still got about five hours till Frisco.

"How far to Carmel and Monterey?"

She looks at the map. "Maybe two and a half hours."

"Let's aim for that then. There's gotta be a nice hotel with a vacancy."

"I hope so. It is the weekend."  
"Yeah." A very different weekend than I pictured. Mike, Davey, Betty, and Tom Jones seem far away.

We don't talk much along the way, just enjoying the scenery mostly. I feel content, relaxed, peaceful. I haven't felt any of those things in a very long time, not since Marie got sick.

In a weird sort of way, I almost feel like I'm cheating on Marie, emotionally I mean. Not that I'm in love with Angela! I mean, I just met her, less than 24 hours ago. (And her perhaps kissing me under an assumed name years ago does not count as an acquaintance.) But this is the first time I've shared these sorts of things with another woman. What I've done in bed with Betty (and others, Betty was just the most intense), that doesn't matter as much.

But I hope Marie would be happy that I'm finding some happiness. I'm not replacing her, but I don't feel as lonely now.

Angela has a sweet, dreamy look on her face, as if this is all she needs, the ocean breeze blowing her now quite wild hair. She's gonna have to brush it out really well before she meets up with Brian Thomas. Or maybe he'll like that look. I'm having trouble believing this is the same woman I saw in a gray business suit at the Department of Records. She changed before we set out on our road trip, into jeans and a T-shirt, like me.

 _We look like a couple._ I can't unthink those words. At least I didn't say them out loud.

I feel like we're sailing, with the ocean to my left, as I work my way up Highway One. It's nice to not have to think about the route. We know where we're going, we'll know when we get there.

I think about asking her about Bower, since it's her turn not to drive, but I don't want to ruin her peace of mind. And it's not like the poet, just a crazy '60s memory. Bower sounds, reading between the lines, like he really messed her up, when she wasn't that confident to begin with. And I'm sort of feeling protective of her, and I don't know if it would be a good idea if her third husband beat up her second husband. Assuming I run into the guy, which presumably I would at some point, even if he is away a lot.

Then I find myself asking, "So what did Bower say when you left him?"

"He doesn't know," she murmurs.

"Excuse me?" I have to keep from plummeting the car into the ocean in surprise.

"He went off on another stupid trip and I simmered about it for a week and then left for Reno."

"So where is he?"

"Somewhere in the jungles of South America."

"An-gel-a!"

She looks up at hearing me split her name like that. "What, Anth-un-y?" she asks in amusement.

"Even with a Reno divorce, doesn't he have to be served with papers?"

"Oh, I suppose so. But as far as I'm concerned, it's over."

"Yeah, that's great, Angie, but in case you've forgotten, you've already got a very muddled marital status."  
She giggles. "That's true."

"You're being awfully casual about all this."

She shrugs. "The marriage was illegal to begin with, because of Brian."

"Yeah, but—Jesus, we're not going to have to take a road trip down to South America, are we?"

"Are you up for it?"

I shake my head.

"It's just as well. I don't think my contract with Hertz allows me to take this car out of the country. And I should probably get back to Jonathan, and work, next week."

This whole thing is so crazy, I don't know what to say anymore. So I drop the subject of Bower for the moment and ask, "How did you get them to let you take so much time off work?"

"I never take vacations, so they owed it to me. Also, I'm lucky to be in middle management, which means I'm not indispensable."

"I don't follow."

"If I were higher up, I'd have to be around all the time to make the big decisions. And when I was a copywriter, I was too dispensable, so I did overtime to prove myself."

"What about when you had the baby?"

"I kept working. I had to show them that my being female isn't a handicap."

"What, you gave birth on your lunch hour?"

"Coffee break."  
I'm not sure if she's kidding. She's surprised me so much in the last roughly twenty hours, in so many ways, I'd believe almost anything at this point.

"I worked through Thanksgiving and Christmas when I was pregnant and told them I'd take the time off in February."  
"Oh. So you've never really stayed home with Jonathan?"

"Please don't guilt-trip me about it. I have enough guilt of my own, thank you."

"I was just wondering." I remind myself that I could never fall for a woman who wouldn't put our home and children first, like Marie did. I like Angela, but I could never be serious about someone like this.

Then she says, "I know I miss a lot of moments in his life. I wish there was a way around that."

"I miss a lot in Sam's life."

"It's hard, isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"I suppose if I'd married someone more dependable, then I might've taken a few years off, till Jonathan was in kindergarten anyway. As it is, I'm still home much more than Michael is."

"And what's Michael going to say when he comes home and finds out he doesn't live there anymore?"

"Hopefully, the divorce papers will find him before then."

I shake my head. "I don't know, Angie. This seems like such a crazy way to live."

"Oh, and I suppose it's better to just sleep with a bunch of people you don't love."

"Ay-oh, oh-ay, I didn't say it was better. Just not as crazy."

"Were you with women before Marie?"

"Well, before Marie, they were girls, not women."  
"You married very young."  
"So did you."  
"But I didn't stick with it."

"Maybe you should've."  
"Oh, you really think Brian and I had a future?"

"It'd be better than marrying a bunch of people you don't love."

"Oo, ouch."  
I grin. "Sorry."

She shakes her head. "I did love Michael. In some ways, I still do. But we don't make each other happy."

"And Brian?"

"I was fond of him."

"And me?"

She looks at me. "What are you asking, Tony? We just met!"

"No, I'm sorry, never mind."  
"I like you. We've gotten remarkably close in one day. And we've gone through a lot in one day. But who knows what this will mean when it's back to my ordinary life."

"Your ordinary life sounds pretty extraordinary."

She laughs. "Oh, if my mother could hear you! She thinks I'm boring and conservative."

"You?"

"Yes, me. Most people think that of me. In fact, I usually do."

"Well, something happened to you in Nevada then, and not just a divorce."

"Yes," she says softly. "You happened to me."

"Oh, Angie!"

"Tony, this is crazy! I mean, this is the craziest part of all of this!"  
"I know, Angie, I know!"

We sound like people on one of Mrs. Rossini's favorite soaps. We sound like we should be in each other's arms, madly necking. Instead, I keep driving and she's not even doing footsies. (Thank God! I would definitely plummet us into the ocean then, and both our kids would be orphaned.)

"I really wish we weren't married!"  
"Yeah, then we could just spend the weekend in Carmel, forget Brian Thomas and everyone."

"But we can't."

"Yeah." I swallow and turn on the radio, in hopes of picking up a signal again. It's mostly static and then I find a '60s oldies station that fades in and out. We both smile.

Then we sing along, quietly this time, and her voice is better than I thought, or maybe I'm just getting used to it. We sing even when there are gaps in the sound. We know these songs so well, especially the Motown.

Carmel is all booked up on this Friday night, so we decide to continue on to Monterey, since it's much bigger. I take 17-Mile Drive, which gives us the most beautiful scenery so far. Even at night, the cypresses and cliffs and crashing waves are amazing!

I park the car at one scenic outlook, so we can savor this more, me especially as the driver. We hold hands again and we both sigh at the beauty. Then we look at each other and I feel like she's a wave and I'm a cliff. We throw our arms around each other and kiss passionately.

"Angela, Angela!"

"Tony, Tony!"

I want to get right back in the car with her and melt together like two candles! Sex with Betty was a primal, carnal experience, but I feel like with Angela it would be almost spiritual. But hot, definitely hot.

I remind myself that if I join physically with her, especially before she's un-cleaved from Brian Thomas, and maybe from Michael Bower, too, then I will be more completely joined with her legally and spiritually and bigamously. Legally we could break, but spiritually would be a problem, for me at least.

"Tony, we need to find a hotel."

"Angela, we can't!"

"Separate rooms, Tony."

I swallow hard. "Right."

But it's not that easy. Finally, at the tenth Monterey hotel, we settle for separate beds in the only vacancy so far.

I let her change in the bathroom before I do. When she comes out, looking cute in pink pajamas, I can't help kissing her again. I meant to wait till it was time to say goodnight, but I'm finding it very hard to wait with her. And the way she kisses back, I think it's tough for her, too.

Next thing I know, we're necking on a bed! I start undoing buttons on her pajama top. "Angela, look, we're married in some sense. Will it really make much difference if we take it to the logical conclusion?"

She sighs. "Oh, Tony, I don't know! I can't think clearly right now!"

I pull away. "We weren't thinking clearly last night either."

"Well, we had an excuse then. We were intoxicated."

I can't help it, I bury my nose in her neck. "I'm intoxicated now! What is that wild scent you're wearing, Baby?" It sounds like a line, but I mean it.

She laughs. "I'm not wearing any perfume. I'm allergic to most brands. And my husband, I mean Michael, never noticed what I wore anyway."

"Yeah? I guess I have a more sensitive nose. I remember the girl I first kissed had great perfume that night."

She giggles this time. "I was wearing bug spray."

I smile. "Well, it was kind of citrusy."

We laugh together and it lightens the mood a little. Then she sighs.

"Tony, I think there's only one thing we can do."

"Should I go sleep in the car?"

She smiles and takes my hand. "No, I think we need to release this tension in a way that will be intimate but will not solidify our matrimonial bond."

I look down at our hands and say, "Uh, are you suggesting—?"

"No, not manual." She blushes. "Tony, I think we need to commit frottage."


	7. Are, Are Not

Tony gives me a blank stare.

Trying not to blush too much, I say, "Frottage is when you rub—"

"Yeah, I know what it is. How do you know? What exactly have you been reading, Young Lady?"

I giggle a little and then frown. "Well, mostly books on how to spice up a marriage."

"Yeah, did it help?"

I shrug. "He was never home enough to try anything out. Even when he was home, he wasn't 'home,' if you know what I mean."

"He wasn't there for you. And not just in bed."

I nod. Tony gets me in a way no one else ever has, although Mother has come close at times. I squeeze his hand. "Tony, I want to be with you. Even if you can't—" I blush again. "Be inside me while I'm married to—whomever I'm married to—I want us to move our bodies together, hold each other. Does that make sense?"

"I think so. And we can't have the other kinds of sex either, except maybe manual, because that's going to count in some state—New York, Connecticut, Nevada, California, wherever—as consummation."

"Right."

"It's just, well. Um, dry-humping, Angela? Like a couple of teenagers?"

"Do you have to put it so unromantically?"

"Angie, there's not any romantic way to describe frottage."

I sigh. "Perhaps not. But I want to be romantic with you."

"I thought you weren't looking for anything serious."

"I meant not marriage-serious."

"Oh."

"What are you looking for?"

"I don't know anymore, Angela. This has all been so crazy. I know I want you. I know it's not just physical."

"Yes," I say softly.

"But this is all happening so fast. I mean the emotional side. The physical side, too, I guess. I mean, last night, well, I thought it was just a one-night stand, or maybe I'd see more of you in Vegas but that would be it."

"I know. I'm not sure what I was thinking last night, other than I was attracted to you. Plus, I don't think we should be held too accountable for what we did under the influence."

"The Great State of Nevada may beg to differ with you."

"Yes. Anyway, it may take weeks or even months to get this all straightened out, including our annulment. I hope that we can fully be together then, start fresh. But tonight, what do you want?"

He hesitates and then says, "I want you. I want whatever you can offer me."

Then we kiss, more slowly this time. We slowly fall back onto the bed and he finishes unbuttoning my pajama top. He smiles as he sees my chest, for the first time when we're sober. I feel self-conscious, since my breasts are smaller than Mother's, but he doesn't seem to be comparing me to anyone, not even Betty. He caresses my breasts gently and then kisses me on the mouth again.

I want to tell him that I've only had sex with Michael but I don't want another long discussion right now, and it doesn't really matter as yet. I don't know how many women he's been with besides Marie and Betty. I try not to think about that, and I try not to think about where I fit in. I'm his wife and not. I'm not his girlfriend, although potentially I could be. I don't think I'm just a one-night or two-night stand.

What is he to me? He's my third husband and not. He's not my boyfriend, he's not my rebound. I don't know, he's Tony.

He kisses downward to my breasts, teasing them. I gasp and stroke his surprisingly soft hair. Then he puts his hand on the waistband of my pajamas, teasing that, too.

Then he sits up and peels off his T-shirt, again revealing the muscles of his chest and stomach. I reach out and shyly stroke his torso. He grins. Then he gently moves my hand to his belt. "You do it," he whispers.

I feel clumsy but I manage to unfasten his belt and, when he nods, I do the button and the zipper, too. He slithers out of his jeans and I can see how hard he is inside his briefs. I bite my lip.

He lies next to me and we kiss, this time pressing up against each other, from head to toe. My body aches for him with a wistful lust I've never known before. His tongue teases its way into my mouth. As we French-kiss, his hands tease my breasts.

We're lying on our sides and it feels right to put one leg over his. He grabs my thigh and says, "Mmm, Angela!"

"Let me take off my pajama bottoms," I whisper.

"OK." He lets go and rolls over onto his back, watching me strip down more, his eyes looking dark and hungry.

I want to apologize for not wearing sexier underwear, but I wasn't planning for anyone to see it when I packed for Reno. Well, Mother teased me that you never know, but I did my best to ignore her. I did pack my diaphragm at her insistence, but that was as a precaution, not for seduction. Still, even she couldn't have foreseen the exact nature of my encounter with Tony.

Tony doesn't seem to mind the underwear and I realize he's thinking of what's underneath.

"Come here," he says, gently pulling me on top of him.

I lie on him with my legs spread, feeling him as completely as I can at this point. We fit together well. But it's more than that. Despite my nervousness, this just feels right.

We kiss, softly at first, and then more passionately. And our bodies tentatively begin to move, at first a thrust or a rub at the other person, and then gradually in rhythm with each other.

After awhile, he rolls us over so he's on top and then he truly begins to thrust and my body answers his, while also initiating new movements, like a piece of classical music.

We kiss and neck and murmur each other's names, while our pelvises dance to this rhythm we're creating. I want him inside me so much, So Much, SO MUCH! But there's something both safe and naughty about what we're doing.

As for him, he seems both frustrated and relieved. At least we're doing something, after all the talk and flirting.

He grunts and then whispers, "Gonna be so good! God, Baby, you're so sweet and hot!"

"Oh, Tony!"

"Can you come like this? What can I do to make you come?"

And somehow, his asking me that, so unselfishly, so un-Michael-ly, combined with of course what our bodies are doing, is enough to bring me to the edge.

"Yeah, that's it, Angie, yeah, let yourself go!"

And I fall off the edge and his eyes widen watching me and then he comes, crying, "Oh, yesyesyes, Sweet Angie!"

We hold each other afterwards, so still, like this moment is fragile. Then we kiss softly again.

And then his eyes widen in panic. "Angela, I came all over you with just underwear in the way! Couldn't you maybe get pregnant from that?"

"It's unlikely. But I put in my diaphragm when I was in the bathroom, just in case we got carried away."

"Oh. You could've mentioned that earlier."

"I didn't want you to think I was assuming anything."

"Baby, with you, I can't assume anything."

"You can assume I just had a lovely and fun time."

He smiles. "Me, too."

Then he rolls us so that we're on our sides and then we cuddle.

"This is nice, too."

"Yeah," he says quietly.

"We'll have more than this later. If you want."

"You kiddin' me? Of course I want more!"

"Me, too."

"It's just."

"What?"

"I don't know if we can keep it at this level. Maybe we shouldn't see each other, I mean in the dating sense, until we get your marital status cleared up."

"Oh." I feel rejected, even though that's probably not his intention.

"I mean, I don't think this is just about sex, whatever it is. But I really want to fully make love with you. This is OK for a road trip, but it's going to get really frustrating if we keep dry—rubbing up against each other like a couple of alleycats."

"That's still not a very romantic image, Tony."

"Well, I'm sorry. But do you get what I mean?"

"I think so. I need to clear up my status anyway, including with you."

"Yeah. I think we have got to get this thing annulled as soon as we can. So that we can have a clean slate, whether or not you're married to the other guys."

"OK, but do you mind if I clear up my first marriage first? Seeing as we're so close to San Francisco?"

"Yeah, let's go to Frisco tomorrow, try to track down Brian Thomas. Who knows? We may run into him that day. And then you can start an actual annulment with him. And we'll do ours on the East Coast, after we get home. I mean, our separate homes."

"Right. And then we can date."

"Well, there's still Bower to deal with, but, yeah, if my priest says it's not adultery, then yeah, we can date."

"You ask your priest about your lo—sex life?"

He shrugs. "Well, just generally. I don't name names. But I am gonna have to tell him about this weekend. I mean, the drunkenness alone is gonna be worth a couple of Hail Marys."

"Being Catholic must be very complicated."

"Yeah, unlike your simple life."

We both laugh.

Then I reluctantly get out of bed and take a quick shower. I soak my panties in the sink and then hang them over the shower rod. I put on a fresh pair and then my pajamas again.

Then Tony uses the bathroom. When he returns, he's wearing pajamas, too.

I smile and say, "We've got to stop dressing alike or people will think we're a couple."

He shakes his head and then climbs into the other bed. I'm disappointed but he's probably right that we shouldn't literally sleep together tonight. I was looking forward to sleep-cuddling though.

"Goodnight, Angie," he murmurs sleepily.

"Goodnight, Anthony Morton," I whisper, but I don't know if he hears me, because he soon starts snoring.

It takes me much longer to fall asleep.


	8. Monterey to San Francisco

The car overheats two blocks from the hotel. Angela is driving, so I sigh and get out of the car.

"There's a gas station a couple blocks down, steer towards that."

"Tony, are you sure you can push the car by yourself? Maybe we should get some help."

"Angela, I'm an athlete!"

She doesn't argue. The car is heavy but at least we don't have too far to go. But then when we get closer, she sees a Hertz dealership another block down, so we head towards that. It's not super hot, this far north in California, on the last day of September, but it is too hot for this kind of work. But I've got what Marie would tease is my macho pride, so I keep going till we make it to the Hertz parking lot. Then I collapse against the car.

A representative comes out and Angela explains the situation. Well, obviously not the whole situation. But the part about renting in Reno and taking this road trip to Frisco.

They offer her another rental car, for no additional charge, but we look at each other and shake our heads. They can get this one back to Reno for her once it's repaired, but then we'd have to bring the other one back to Monterey. Plus, neither of us is crazy about the idea of driving in San Francisco.

She asks, "Could you give us vouchers for the bus or the train?"

"Well, yes, if you like, but it would take about four hours by public transportation."

We look at each other and I nod. At this point, an extra hour or two isn't going to matter.

The guy gives us a lift to the bus station, explaining different routes along the way. We decide on the one that's two buses and three and a half hours.

Angela and I find a seat in the back of the bus and she says, "Plastics."

I grin. Marie liked movies but she wasn't the movie nut I am. I know that Angela is thinking of the ending of _The Graduate,_ where there aren't any actual lines, just Dustin Hoffman and the girl sitting together, smiling, not knowing what the future holds. The line "Plastics" is from earlier.

"Just call me Irving Gladstone."

She laughs, then shakes her head. "Michael never got my movie references."

"That's why he's at the bottom of your Top Three."

"Right."

It's weird sitting with her in public like this, I mean with all the other passengers. It was nice being sort of alone with her in the convertible. And I was sort of looking forward to more of our personal talks, not just about "us," but about everything.

I do end up telling her stories about growing up in Brooklyn, which seems like another world to her. I wonder what it would be like if she were in that world.

"So what did Bobby Governale say to Philly Fingers?" she asks eagerly.

Her stories are of mishaps and misadventures, growing up and then in college. The poor woman is full of embarrassing anecdotes. She's shy at first, telling them surrounded by strangers, but after awhile she seems to decide that we'll never see these people again.

"Nothing but your slip and a wrist corsage, huh? I'd like to have seen that. Uh, I mean."

It's funny, I've sort of made love to this woman, and she's my sort of wife, but I feel like she's unattainable. Which, yeah, is weird considering how awkward she was growing up. But she is still, despite everything, the classiest woman I've ever known. It's not just the Connecticut WASP thing either. She's also classy in the sense of being a good person. Like Audrey Hepburn.

"Hm, I'm rethinkin' it and your neck is more Hepburn than Kelly."  
"Audrey or Kate?"  
"Audrey."  
"Thank you."  
She lifts her hair up with one hand and it is somehow sexier than Betty Randall shaking her tits at me. I look out the window.

"It's nice here, isn't it? In a different way than the coast."  
"Yeah." I crack open a window because I'm too aware of her personal scent. And then I get a whiff of garlic!

"Mmm, it smells like an Italian restaurant!"

"Yeah, it smells like home," I murmur. "Uh, not that I grew up in a restaurant."

"Mmm, I'd have loved to have grown up in an Italian restaurant! Of course, with my weight problem, that wouldn't have been a good idea."

"You look fine now." She's got a bit of a baby face and a bit of a tummy, but it's cute on her.

"Thank you." She blushes. She is still not good with compliments, even though I think I've made it pretty clear, especially last night, how attracted I am to her. The thing is, she's not one of those girls where you have to constantly reassure them because they're insecure in a neurotic way. There's something sweet about her, and yeah, it's a change from women who are overconfident, like Betty.

It turns out that Gilroy, the town where we're changing buses, is the Garlic Capital of the World. We both sniff deeply, like we're in Heaven. Then we laugh.

We get a quick lunch between buses. Heroes with garlic of course.

She says, "Good thing this isn't a date. I'd worry about my breath."

"I can't smell you when I eat it, too."

And then we kiss. I want to keep kissing her, but there's a bus to catch.

On the bus, we start to actually talk about our game plan, such as it is.

"The first thing to do is to go to the neighborhood where he lived when he wrote to me in 1969."

"OK, where's that?"

"Um, Haight-Ashbury."  
I shake my head. "Of course."

"He wasn't exactly a hippie, but he was a poet, and he was sympathetic to them."

"Do you have the address?"

"No, but he might've moved since then anyway."  
"Yeah. Angela, how do we even know he's still in Frisco?"

"We don't. But there may be people who remember him. At coffeehouses or bookstores."  
"We're gonna need the Yellow Pages."

"Yes, let our fingers do the walking."  
"You didn't come up with that slogan, did you?"

"No, no, I think I was in high school then."

"Oh." And then I start walking my fingers along her bare arm.

"Tony."

"What? It's just your arm."

"You're very distracting, you know?"

"I'm distracting?"

She shakes her head. "This time we really need to get separate rooms."

I nod. "Separate hotels if necessary."

She laughs. "Yes."

When we finally get to Frisco, I hail a cab. We've agreed that it's worth it, especially with the luggage. She pays but I give the tip.

We look around. The Haight is shabbier than I pictured, but the glory days are over of course.

"You don't want to stay here, do you?"

"Overnight? No. Maybe we can find someplace to stow the luggage though."

"Uh, OK." But for the moment, I end up carrying both suitcases.

"You don't have to do that."  
"Hey, come on, let me be chivalrous."

"Oh, all right. Hey, let's go into that bookstore. Even if they haven't heard of Brian Thomas, they may be able to sell us a map. And maybe even let us leave our luggage for a couple hours."

I'm less trusting than she is, but I guess it doesn't hurt to ask. So I follow her in.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for the poet Brian Thomas."

"Poetry's towards the back, on the left," says the bored-looking clerk with a goatee, not looking up from his copy of _Rolling Stone_.

"No, I mean the person, not his works. You see, my name is Angela Bower and—"

The clerk looks up and his face lights up. "Angel of the Bower!"

"What?"

" 'Angel of the Bower, In a long-lost hour, I first sipped your power, Kisses that devour—' "

Angela is blushing furiously and totally speechless.  
"He wrote a poem about her? I mean under her married name? I mean her second married name?"

The clerk nods. "Yeah, when he heard she got married again, he wrote a whole saga about their marriage."

"I wonder what he rhymed with 'Vegas,' " I mutter.

Angela finds the words to ask, "How did he know I got married again?"

"Mutual acquaintance Back East. I don't remember the details."

"But you know this guy? You know Brian Thomas?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Where is he?"

"On retreat for maybe another week. See, he likes to go up to Alaska in early Fall, commune with the Muse. Although apparently the Muse in the abstract is not as inspiring as the Muse in the flesh."

It's a good thing I'm holding two suitcases. Otherwise, I'd slug this guy.

"Well, can you tell him I stopped by? Oh, and do you have a piece of paper?"

The guy looks around him, surrounded as he is by sheets and sheets of paper.

"I mean that I can put my home phone number and address on."  
"Yeah." He hands her a bookmark and a pen.

"Thank you."

She writes on the bookmark in neat, precise, and under these circumstances small cursive. "Tell him that it's very important that I speak to him."

"Yeah, sure."

"Come on, Angie, let's go."

As we head out, the guy calls after us, "Oh, and it was 'leg as.' With one S."

I wait till we've walked a block before I say, "I thought nothing happened with you and Brian Thomas!"

"Oh, Tony, we played footsies. That's probably why he was writing about legs."

"Uh huh."  
"My God, you're jealous!" She looks amused and flattered.

"Now why would your third husband be jealous of your first?"

"Tony, I didn't do nearly as much with him, even in Las Vegas, as I've done with you."  
"Hey, you're a free agent, I don't care." But I am relieved, even though of course she was with Bower, and whoever else, after Brian Thomas.

"Mm hm."  
"So where to now, Angel of the Bower, my angelic flower?"

She smiles. "The airport?"

It hits me. It's over. After all the delays, it's suddenly over. I mean this part of our search. Brian will contact her in Connecticut, and they'll end their marriage, unless he doesn't want to let her go. I want to ask if she'd take him back if he swept her off her feet, but I can't.

And after all, I am a widower. Marie has been dead only six months. One night of drunken matrimony, and another night, well, part of a night, of sober frottage, doesn't change the fact that I should not be getting so hung up on a chick who's got a husband who writes sagas about her years after the fact.

"Yeah, we should head home," I say quietly. "I mean New York." My home. Just another stopping place on her journey.

"Right. Do you want to file there? I think it would be simpler than in Connecticut."

I swallow. "Yeah, I'll look into it."

"Thank you, Tony." She kisses my cheek. "And the sooner that's settled, the sooner we can start dating."  
"Right. Well, once you're free of Bower and Thomas, too."

"Right." She smiles mischievously. "You don't want to fool around with a married woman, do you?"

"Definitely not." Then I step to the curb and hail a cab because I can't continue this conversation no more.


	9. Inventory

"And then what happened?"

I sigh. After years of Mother being bitterly disappointed in me as a daughter and as a source of "juicy dirt," she is of course eager for every detail of my nearly 48 hours in the company of "an Italian stallion."

The thing is, I'm not giving details. Not just because that's not my style, but because I don't want her distorting it into something cheap and sordid. So I admit to flirting and making out, but I leave it as vague as possible.

"Well, we said goodbye at La Guardia."

"Did he kiss you?"

"No, he hugged me." He's a very nice hugger, on top of everything else. Warm, comforting, but sexy, too. I try not to think of when we held each other close in bed, only our underwear separating us.

"I see."

"Anyway, how is Jonathan?"

"He misses you. I wanted to take him to the train station, but Frau Blücher said no." That's Mother's nickname for the current housekeeper, from the Cloris Leachman character in _Young Frankenstein_. Mrs. Smathers is a little severe. "But other than that, he's well. I fed him lots of candy to keep his spirits up."

I shake my head. I can never entirely tell to what degree Mother is joking.

We're soon home and I see for myself how Jonathan is. He's grown so much in six weeks! But he's still my baby.

"Mommy home?"  
"Yes, Darling, Mommy is home." I feel guilty that I have to leave him again for work on Monday, but at least we've got tonight and tomorrow. And I still have to provide for him. Getting alimony and child support out of Michael may be difficult. "Um, Mother, have you heard anything from M-I-C-H-A-E-L?"

"That S.O.B.? No, not yet." Then she cackles. "I can't wait to see his face when he shows up."

I roll my eyes. "I'll be sure to call you so you can run right over."

"Please do. Day or night."

"Even if you're on a date?"

She shrugs. "Maybe I'll bring my date along. Free entertainment."  
"I'm so glad I can amuse you, Mother."

"Goodnight, Dear." She kisses my cheek and then Jonathan's.

"Bye, Gwamma!"

After Mother leaves, I pay Mrs. Smathers and then dismiss her for the night. Thank God she's not a live-in! Mother filled in the nights I was away. She said it put a crimp in her love life, "but that's why they invented nooners." Anyway, I haven't yet found someone I trust and like enough to live in this house. It was bad enough living here with Michael, and the house is half his.

I don't know how we'll settle up the property. I suppose I'll have to buy him out. I can't imagine him wanting to keep this house, or any house, when he's such a Gypsy. Besides, young as Jonathan is, this is the only home he's ever known, and I still want him to grow up here, if possible.

A thought strays into my head of how he'd adapt to Brooklyn, but of course that's impossible. I don't have or want that kind of future with Tony. Besides, the schools couldn't possibly be as good as they are here.

Tony did have a lot of fun growing up there though, didn't he? Much more fun than I had. But then I had books and movies to escape into.

Mother did ask, "Are you going to see him again?"  
"Tony? Yes, once everything's settled."

But even as I said it, I had doubts. Tony was strange on the way to the San Francisco Airport and then on the plane. It felt like he was a yo-yo. He'd flirt and then he'd back off. Like he didn't know what we were to each other. I didn't know how to respond. Sometimes I'd flirt back, and other times I'd retreat, to protect myself.

I couldn't say to Mother, "I thought he and I had something special. Something I'd never had before." I was afraid she'd mock me, call me naïve, which I know I am. And even if Tony wanted me in Nevada and California, that doesn't mean he'll want me in Connecticut or New York. After all, he'll be around his buddies and the neighborhood girls, who probably all adore him. Why would he want some uptight, insecure WASP?

Maybe I shouldn't have told him all those embarrassing stories. I should've told him stories that would make me sound good. Ones about my success in advertising. Well, I told some of those, too.

And would he fit into my world anyway? A jock with a high school education, and a Brooklyn high school education at that. Oh, I know, I sound like a snob. But I am different from him, not better, but different. What do we have in common anyway? Other than an accidental marriage and a love of movies and Motown?

I focus on my sleepy son again. "Do you want me to sing you to sleep?"

"Sing sweep." He yawns.

So I do. He's the only one, except for Tony, who's never criticized my singing. I'm perfect in his eyes. Jonathan's I mean, not Tony's of course. He's well aware of my flaws.

"Hush, Little Baby, don't say a word..."

By the time Jonathan's asleep, I'm yawning, too. It has been a very long day. I kiss Jonathan's forehead, brushing aside his golden hair. (Mother teases me that I'm peroxiding Jonathan's hair, too, but number one, I no longer use peroxide but only the dye that my hairdresser Antoine recommends, and number two, Jonathan's is natural, like Nanna's.) "Sleep well, My Love."

I shut the door quietly behind me and then go over to my own bedroom, down the hallway. There's an empty bedroom, plus a sewing room that could be converted into a bedroom if need be. There was a time when I thought Michael and I would have more children. But that will never happen now. It's over. Sort of.

I change for bed, thinking of how the last time I slept here I was going to be leaving for Reno the next day. I told myself then that the next time I slept here, there would be no possibility of it being with Michael, as there always had been with his previous trips. I remember all the lonely nights I spent here, the ones with him beside me being some of the loneliest. Being single couldn't be worse than that.

Except, I'm not exactly, single, am I? I take a quick inventory of my husbands.

-Brian Thomas, off in Alaska, still legally married after nine and half years, perhaps not as over me as I thought (Tony's jealousy was so cute!)

-Michael Bower, off in the jungles of South America, hopefully served with the papers that end our illegal liaison (Tony is jealous of him, too, I think)

-Tony Micelli, off in the urban jungle, home with his little girl, still mourning his young wife, probably planning to end our illegal liaison ASAP

I can't help wondering which one will show up first. I must admit, even during my marriage to Michael, I would daydream about Brian, my poet knight. When Michael and I would argue, I'd imagine Brian swooping in, reciting poetry, carrying me off. But of course, what would happen to my career then? If Michael was an unconventional spouse in the advertising world (where the wives look like Betty Ford), Brian would be even more so. But then, can you imagine Tony on my arm at an awards banquet?

I shake my head. Somehow returning to Fairfield has brought out my inner snobbery, snobbery I wasn't even aware I had.

If Michael shows up first—which seems likely, given that this was until very recently his home—he's unlikely to woo me. No matter how badly we were getting along, he'll still likely argue with me about the divorce, especially springing it on him like that. But six weeks ago, I didn't feel like waiting around for his return. That was part of the problem. I suppose it is possible that he'll try to win me back, because he can be charming when he wants to be. And I do feel some guilt about breaking up Jonathan's home, although I tried to minimize that in front of the Catholic I spent the last couple days with.

If Tony shows up first—Well, why would he? He's ambivalent, especially about pursuing this before my marital status is cleared up. Maybe none of them will show up. Maybe Michael is just as sick of me as I am of him. And Brian could settle things by phone or mail.

Well, that's fine. I'm an independent woman. I don't need any of my husbands. Or any man. I'm fine on my own.

But this bed feels a lot emptier than I remember, especially after sharing a bed, or at least a room, with Tony for two nights. What is it about that man that fills up a bed and a life in the way no one has? OK, I don't have much to compare him to.

I wonder how many women he's been with. I couldn't ask of course, and I didn't really want him to tell me. But it has been nagging at me. He was crazy about Marie, and then Betty got to him in a different way. And then there would be whatever groupies and girlfriends he's had. Maybe I won't seem so "amazing" to him when the memory of our time together fades.

But I will always think of him fondly. Even if I never see him again.


	10. Two Fathers

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

"How long has it been since your last confession?"

"Uh, one month."

"And what sins have you committed, My Son?"

"Uh, sex outside of marriage, drunkenness, bigamy, and swearing."

"Can we back up a little?"

"Drunkenness?"

"The one after that."

"Oh, right. Well, it's not my bigamy exactly. I'm just an accessory I guess."

"Anthony?"

"Uh, yeah, Father Marconi?"

"I think we'd better continue this discussion in my office."

"Uh, OK."

I leave the confessional and follow him. I knew this was going to be a tough confession. A month ago, I thought I'd have the usual on-the-road stuff to 'fess up to, nothing like this.

I haven't told anyone what happened, not even Pop. I got home late last night, so I just picked up Sam from Mrs. Rossini's and said I was too tired to talk. Then this morning, Sam and I went to church, and then we hung out and she did most of the talking. You wouldn't think a kindergartner would lead such an active life, but Sam's is full of drama, from who she hit for telling her she throws like a girl, to which Dr. Seuss books she's reading, to which of my girlfriends kept calling to find out if I was back yet. I'm going to try to lay low, avoid Theresa, etc., till I sort things out. And that's why I went to confession.

When we're seated in his office, he says, "You married a married woman?"

"Well, yeah, but I didn't know it at the time. Neither did she!"

"Does this have something to do with the drunkenness?"

"Well, kinda sorta. You see, we were drunk—well, we mostly got drunk separately, and, um, so we went off to get married."

"I see. And how long had you been dating?"

"Oh, Father, we weren't dating!" I wince. That sounds worse. "Um, you see, I found her very attractive, but she's a nice girl, so I thought we should get married first."

"This is the most disjointed confession I've ever heard. Are you sober now?"

"Yeah, sorry, please give me a moment." I take a deep breath. "Neither of us was thinking clearly. But anyway we got married and then the next day we found out she's not divorced."

"Oh, she's divorced. Or had intended to be."  
"Well, yeah."  
"So not a Catholic then?"  
"Definitely not a Catholic. You see. Um, she went to Reno for a divorce from her second husband."

"Her second husband."

"Well, yeah. Now you're gonna laugh—"

"I doubt that."  
"Well, anyway when she was young and naïve, actually she's still pretty naive, but anyway she had a Vegas wedding, but they didn't do anything. I mean, just footsies."

"Footsies?"

"Yeah, you know when you, well, not you, but when someone playfully rubs their foot against another person's foot, or leg as the case may be—"

"Yes, I know what footsies are. And they're not technically a sin by the way."  
"Oh, good." I shake my head. Wait till I get to the frottage! "Anyway, they meant to have an annulment but he scr—messed up the paperwork. But she didn't know that till us getting married alerted the Department of Records."

"I see. So she didn't consummate her marriage with him but she did consummate her marriage with you?"

"No, not with either of us."

"She is a nice girl! Although that may be taking things to extremes."

"Yeah, well, anyway, there's her other husband."

"The middle husband."

"Yyyeeeaaahhh. So they were actually, fully married. With a kid and everything. She was in Reno to get divorced from him, which is how we met in Vegas. But the thing is, he's sort like an explorer and—"

"With a pith helmet?"

"No, with a camera. He makes wildlife documentaries. She's not sure if he's been served with the papers yet."  
"I see. Well, in the eyes of the Church, that would be her true husband, but I realize that the legality of it is more complex."

"Oh. So did I commit a sin or not?"  
"Besides the drunkenness and everything?"

"I mean the bigamy part."  
"Oh. I don't think so. You never touched her, right?"

I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Define 'touch.' "

"More footsies?"

"Well, yeah, and some, I guess you could call it 'lewd behavior.' "

"But you didn't lie with her as your wife?"  
"No, definitely not."

"Then in that case, she's not your wife, in the eyes of the Church."

"OK."

"I would still recommend a legal annulment though."  
"Yeah, sure," I say quietly.

"Is something wrong, Anthony?"

"I—I know this is crazy, because I just met her, but I think I might be, I mean I feel sort of, you know—"

"Are you in love with her?"  
"Oh, Jes—Gee, Father, 'love's' kind of a strong word."

"Are you fond of her?"

"Very fond. Very deeply fond of her."

"Is it possible you could grow to love her?"

"Ye—um, well, maybe, yeah."

"Then maybe you shouldn't annul the marriage."

I stare at him.

"Of course you'll have to find out how she feels about it."

"But she's married to two other guys! And my wife just died!"

"From what you've told me, she intended to divorce the other two men. And, yes, this is very soon after Marie's death. But you've made a commitment to this other woman. And perhaps it's one you'll want to honor."

"I, uh, I never looked at it that way before." I totally was not expecting this! And I know I should tell him he's crazy, but is he? I mean, if Angela and I could get that close in a couple days, who knows what it could develop into? Assuming she actually does wanna get rid of Michael and Brian.

"Well, give it some thought. I assume you don't have to make an immediate decision."  
"No, yeah. I don't want to rush into anything."

Now he laughs.

When I go home, another father is waiting for me.

"Hey, Pop, how's it goin'?"

"Can't complain. Well, I could, but who'd listen?"

I chuckle and then we update each other on our lives. No, I don't tell him about Angela, not just yet. He tells me how things are going with the sanitation department, and a few stories Sam forgot to tell me. I tell him about the end of the season, not that he didn't see it all on TV anyway.

"Well, win some, lose some."  
"Yeah. Um, Pop, this is kind of a weird question, but after Mom died, why didn't you date?"

"Oh, I dated."

"You did?"

"Yeah, but I was more discreet than you. I still date sometimes. Nothin' serious, but it gets lonesome sometimes, and I'm sure Lina understands. Marie understands, too, so don't you go feelin' guilty about it."

"Oh. Well, thanks." I would normally ask about the women he's been seeing all these years. But right now I have to ask this. "Pop, did you ever think about gettin' married again?"

He shrugs. "Well, I still wouldn't rule it out. But I've never met a woman like your mother. Not even close."

"Yeah," I say quietly.

"Wait a minute, are you tellin' me you met a woman like Marie?"

"She is nothin' like Marie!"

"But you've met a woman."  
"Well, yeah."  
"And I'm guessin' she's not Italian. Maybe not even Catholic?"

"No, Pop, she's not."

"Well, if you love her, I'll love her, too."  
"Thanks, Pop, but I don't know if I love her. We just met three days ago."  
"Isn't this kind of rushin' into things?"

"You don't know the half of it."

"So tell me."

I look at him. My father and I have a great relationship and I love him to death, but is he ready to hear all this?

"Come on, Anthony, I drive a garbage truck. It's hard to disgust me."  
So I tell him. Not every single little moment but a hell of a lot more than I told Father Marconi. He doesn't say much, just sits and listens and nods.

"So, uh, what do you think?"

"I think you need to go see this girl, no matter who she's married to."

"Yeah, uh, I think you're right."

I wonder if I should talk to Sam first though. I mean, maybe she doesn't want me to be married to anyone. She might feel like I was trying to replace her mother. God, what if they don't like each other? I definitely can't introduce Angela as my wife! OK, here's the plan. I'll go see Angela tomorrow, get there before she leaves for work, maybe catch the commuter train with her if we need to talk awhile. And then, if she's comfortable with it, she can stop by Brooklyn after work, meet Sam and Pop.

No, that's no good. I can't bring Angela into this neighborhood. She'd stick out like a sore thumb. And what if she hates Brooklyn? What if she hates Sam and Pop? Well, if she does, then that's it, we're through. I don't need her looking down on everybody. Maybe she looks down on me. Maybe she was just gettin' her jollies and now it's out of her system.

Except, she seemed really nice. And how could anyone hate Sam or Pop? OK, hating Brooklyn I could see, although I'd still hold it against her.

"Anthony?"

"Yeah, Pop?"

"Don't overthink this. Just go see the girl."

I nod. "Right, Pop. Thanks."

Then I look at my watch and realize I should go pick up Sam from the Rossinis'. I wonder what Mrs. Rossini would say if she knew. But I don't think I could tell her about the bigamy and everything. If things work out, I'll introduce Angela as my girlfriend, and not say how we met. But what if Angela doesn't like Mrs. Rossini?

I know, I know, I'm getting ahead of myself again.

I wonder what I should wear tomorrow.

"You wanna borrow a tie?"  
My father, the mind-reader.


	11. Brand New Life

The doorbell rings as I step out of the shower. I quickly throw on my pink robe and wrap my hair in a towel turban (also pink as it happens).

Normally, Mrs. Smathers would answer the bell but I fired her yesterday. I caught her yelling at Jonathan! She said he has to learn to behave, but he's just a baby! As far as I can tell, she's never hit him, but I'm not taking any chances.

Mother has reluctantly agreed to mind Jonathan until I can find a replacement. She refuses to cook or clean, but I suppose we can manage for a few days. We can let the house go a little and eat out at child-friendly restaurants.

I know, as if I don't have enough to worry about. But at least this is something I can take care of, unlike depending on my husbands to become exes.

I head down the stairs, hoping that the bell hasn't woken Jonathan. I'm glad Mother got here before I left for work.

I open the door and am about to say, "Mother, can you look in on Jonathan, while I make us all some juice and toast?" But the words die on my lips.

Tony is standing there, in a gray and green checked suit and a blue & red paisley tie. Normally, I would point out that these don't match, but I'm too startled by his presence.

"Hey, Angela."

"Tony!"

"I hope it's OK I dropped by."

"Yes, of course. But I thought you'd call first."

"I didn't remember your number, just your address."

I realize now, I never actually gave him either. But he was there when I wrote it out for the Las Vegas Records Department and then for the clerk in the bookstore.

"Um, I'm sorry, I have to get ready for work."

"Can I help?"

"Yes, you can whip up a breakfast for me, my son, and my mother, whom I expect any moment."

"No problem. Where's the kitchen?" I was joking but I don't think he is. "Angie, I'm a great cook. I learned when I was a kid and I cook for Sam whenever I can."

"Oh. Um, through there." I point towards the swinging door.

"Great. You go upstairs and get ready and I'll let in your mom when she gets here."

I'm dubious about this, all of this. I don't want him to meet Mother yet, and I'm not sure about his cooking. Then again, it can't be any worse than mine. If I hurry, I can at least get dressed by the time Mother arrives.

"Thank you," I say. I consider kissing him on the cheek, but I feel self-conscious, so I hurry back up.

I'm tempted to put on something sexy for Tony, but I really do need to go to work today. And I'd never hear the end of it if Mother saw me in anything too wild. It's going to be bad enough seeing her reaction to his presence.

Why is he here? Does he want to talk some more about the annulment? He can't have filed yet. It's a Monday morning, and nothing could've been done yesterday. And I thought we agreed we wouldn't see each other until things were straightened out. Not to mention, he must've known I'd be dashing off to work. This is not the best time for any serious conversation!

And having my mother arrive in the middle of it won't help, but it's too late to call her and tell her to not come. Maybe Tony and I can make arrangements to talk later. After all, I work in New York and he lives there. We could meet for lunch.

I am glad to see him. I'm just not prepared. I wish he'd shown up in the evening instead, preferably after Mother had gone home.

I'm almost dressed when I hear the doorbell again. That will be Mother. I don't think I can make it downstairs in time. I'll just have to accept that they'll meet each other without me to restrain her. I can just picture him introducing himself and her saying, "Angela was right. You are gorgeous!" Or maybe even something worse.

I put on my heels and step out into the hallway. Then Tony calls, "Angela! Someone here to see you!"

I'm guessing it's not Mother then. I sigh, not wanting to deal with another visitor this morning, but I suppose I don't have any choice. I'll explain to whoever it is that I have to get to work soon.

Then I round the corner and stand on the balcony, staring down at a man with a brown mustache and a brown jacket, the latter with leather patches. "Brian!" I breathe. "Brian Thomas!"

"You're as lovely as ever, Angela," he calls up to me.

I feel like a princess on a balcony, gazing down at my poet knight. Except, out of the corner of my eye, I see an Italian in a checked suit who's looking very annoyed.

"Um, have you two met?"

"Yes, Mr. Micelli said he's a friend of yours."

"Right, yes, a friend." Well, I could hardly expect Tony to introduce himself as my latest husband, particularly since Brian doesn't yet know we're not exes.

"Is your husband around?"

I just catch Tony muttering, "Funny you should say that," as I come downstairs.

"Tony, may I speak to Brian alone?"

"Yeah, I've got breakfast to make anyway. For five I guess."

Poor Tony! He probably feels like my servant now. Well, I'll make it up to him later.

As Tony heads back to the kitchen, I come downstairs and give Brian an awkward hug.

"It's so good to see you."

"You, too. I, I thought you were in Alaska."

"I was. But I came back Saturday night. I just wasn't feeling inspired. But now!"

I pull away. "Brian, I hope you didn't misunderstand—"

"Angela, I know you're married, but we had something special. You feel it, too. Otherwise, you wouldn't have come looking for me."

"Well, yes, I am married. And that's why I came looking for you."  
"You're not happy, are you, Angela? I thought at first that that man in the apron was your husband, but he's not what I pictured."

"Well, appearances can be deceiving."  
"I don't understand."

"Sit down, Brian."

He takes the couch. I take a chair.

"Brian, do you remember when you filed for the annulment in Mexico?"

"Of course. I've regretted it ever since. But it seemed to be what you wanted, and I wanted and still want you to be happy."  
"That's very sweet of you. But you see, you misfiled."

"Misfiled?"

"Yes, with the Bureau of Sanitation."

"I did?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so."

"Did you just find this out after almost ten years?"

"Well, yes."  
"They were pretty slow to catch up with you."  
"Yes."

"Oh no! And you got married to Mr. Bower!"

"Yes, I did."

"Oh, Angela, you poor thing!"

"Thank you."

Tony pokes his head in. "Hey, Angie, how do you like your eggs?"

"I usually don't eat them. But an omelet would be nice if it's no trouble."

"No prob. Brian?"

"Oh, you don't have to—"

"Are you a vegetarian or somethin'?"  
"Sadly, my soul is too impure for that."

I can see Tony biting his lip.

"Is scrambled OK?"

"You got it." Tony disappears again.

"Uh, Angela, I don't mean to pry, I mean I'm not one of those possessive husbands, but just how good a friend is Tony? And does Mr. Bower know about him?"

"I'm not sure and no, respectively."

"Oh."

"Brian, I married Tony in Las Vegas on Thursday."

"Oh. But you're married to me! And Mr. Bower!"

"I didn't know I was married to you. And I'm divorced from Mr. Bower. I think."

"You think?"

"It's a very long story, but the short version is that I need to divorce all three of you, for sure."

"Oh. Do you have a fourth man lined up?"

If anyone else asked that, I'd slap him. But Brian isn't being sarcastic. He's not that cruel and he doesn't really have a sense of humor. He's asking in all sincerity.

"No, I just need a clean slate."

"Oh. Then you don't want to get back together? With me I mean."  
"No, I'm sorry. Brian, you are a very special memory to me, but the past is the past. I have a new life and—"

"Mommy! Me hungwy!"

"You have a child?"

"You didn't know?"

"No, I just heard about your marriage. Uh, I mean the one to Mr. Bower."

"Mommy?"

"Just a minute, Darling! Excuse me, Brian."

"Of course."

I head upstairs and check on Jonathan.

"Mommy, men here?"

He must've heard the male voices, something not often heard here when Michael's away. (Unless Mother has been entertaining guests despite my ground rules.)

"Yes, some friends of Mommy's are here, Darling."

"Oh. Hungwy."

"I'll take you downstairs and we'll get breakfast."

He gives me a dubious look. I think he realizes Mrs. Smathers isn't coming back, and I think he knows Mother and I can't really cook.

"It's OK, Sweetheart, one of Mommy's friends can cook." I hope.

He looks reassured. How wonderful it is that he doesn't have any preconceived ideas about sex roles. The idea that a man can cook does not faze him. I think his generation has the potential to grow up with open minds. I'm going to buy him a _Free to Be You and Me_ album when he's a little older.

I get him dressed for the day and decide I may as well take him downstairs and introduce him to his stepfathers. Well, I guess Brian isn't technically his stepfather, but close enough. Bigamy tends to blur labels.

We're coming down the stairs when the front door opens. I suppose Mother is just using her key, rather than ringing the bell.

Then Michael walks in! He smiles. "Now this is a nice homecoming." He sounds completely sincere, which means he did not get served with the divorce papers.

"Daddy!"

"Hey, Little Tiger!" Michael meets us at the foot of the stairs and takes Jonathan from me, giving me a kiss on the cheek, as if we didn't have a huge fight the day he left. I suppose he's forgiven and forgotten and expects me to do the same.

I look into the living room, but there's no sign of Brian now.

"Hey, Angie," Tony calls from the kitchen, "does Jonathan like eggs?"

Michael looks at me but I don't even know where to begin.

Tony pokes his head out. "Oh. Um, six for breakfast then?"

I consider trying to pass Tony off as our new housekeeper, but I don't think Michael would buy it.

"Maybe this homecoming isn't as nice as I thought."

Then Brian emerges from the bathroom behind the stairs. "Oh, hi, you must be Mr. Bower."

"Angela?" This is from my arriving mother, not Michael, who's now speechless.

"Um, Mother, allow me to introduce you to Brian Thomas and Tony Micelli. Michael you already know."

Mother leans over and loudly whispers to me, "Pick Bachelor #2!"

"Mother, I need you to drive me to the station." And I drag her out the front door.


	12. Mrs Robinson

"I guess she don't want her omelet," I mumble.

I can't believe she'd run off like that and leave me stuck with her other husbands. I thought she was braver than that. Though to be fair, we did all catch her off guard. And she does have to get to work.

"I'll have it."  
"Yeah, sure, Bri."

Michael looks like he wants to blow his stack but he can't because he's holding the kid.

"Hey, Mike, I made some for Jonathan, too. You wanna take him into the kitchen?"

"My name is not Mike."

"Sorry, Michael."

He hesitates and then he says, "We'll have breakfast. But only because I haven't eaten since the plane. And then I'm going to put my son to bed and then the three of us will have a nice little chat."

"Yeah, sure."  
"Sounds good to me. Oh, and, Tony, please don't call me Bri."  
"Sorry."

I'm not making too good a good impression, am I? I don't know why I care, but we are sort of family. Then again, they're not impressing me too much.

At least they like my cooking. When we all sit down and I serve them the eggs (Michael eats Benedict style, while Jonathan has the scrambled), they're happy. Jonathan apparently never eats eggs, but he eats mine. That makes me happy.

Brian says, "You're a wonderful cook, Tony."

"Thank you."  
"Yeah, better than Angela," Michael says.

"Uh, thanks." The way he says it, it doesn't sound like a compliment.

"Good," Jonathan says.

"Thanks, Pal." I want to ruffle his bowl-cut hair but Michael is glaring at me anyway.

"Come on, Sport, it's naptime."

"No sweepy."

"Just lie down for a little while and then we'll do something fun. But Daddy has to talk to Mommy's friends right now."

"Don't wanna!"

"Jonathan!"

"Hey, Jonathan, do you like monkeys?" This always works with Sam.

His eyes get big. "Monkeys?"

"Yeah, if you take a little nap, I will sing you five songs about monkeys when you wake up."

"Kay!"

Michael looks annoyed. "I suppose you'd like to tuck him in, too."  
"No, that's OK. You do it." I almost say, "I bet it's been months since you have," but I stop myself.

"Thank you so much. Come on, Little Tiger, let's head up." Michael picks up his son and carries him out of the kitchen.

Brian shakes his head. "I can see why Angela left him."  
"Yeah, well. Although you gotta feel for the guy. He doesn't know what we're doing here and he came home expecting to find his wife and child waiting for him."  
"Yeah. Do you want to tell him or should I?"

I look at Brian. He's not a bad guy. Weird but not bad. Nicer than Michael anyway. But I can't imagine him explaining Angela's marital situation. It's gonna have to be up to me. Unless we just sneak out while Michael's upstairs and leave it to Angela or maybe her mother to explain.

I wonder how much her mother knows. The little I saw of her and the little more Angela has told me, she was right that her mother isn't like other people's mothers. She's got big blue eyes, wavy red hair, and cleavage that Betty would envy. Beautiful in a different way than Angela, who I guess takes after her dad. And Mrs. Robinson knows she's beautiful, which is one big difference from Angela. I could see going for her, despite the age difference, if I weren't so crazy about Angela. She seems like she'd be a lot of fun.

I know, I shouldn't be thinking like this about my mother-in-law, but I'm trying to be honest here.

"I'll tell him."

"OK, but I'll be there for support."  
"Thanks, Buddy."

"Well, we both care about Angela."

"Yeah, we care enough to marry her in Vegas."

To my surprise, he laughs. I wasn't sure if he had a sense of humor.

"So tell me, what was Angela like back then? At 18? She claims she was shy and nerdy."

"Well, yes, on the surface. She seemed very conservative, a Business major."  
"Yeah, she's in advertising."

I wait to see if this will disillusion him.  
"Yes, I know. I'm glad she found a way to be creative in the soul-crushing world of business."

"Yeah. So what do you mean by 'on the surface'?"  
"Well, when women like her shed their inhibitions, they can become volcanos of passion."

I certainly got a taste of that, but I hadn't realized he had, too. "But you didn't—"

"No, no, although I wish we had. You?"

"No." I don't want to tell him what we did. It's too personal to say to an acquaintance.

Then Michael comes in. "So you two are still here?"  
"Yeah, we need to talk to you," I say.

"OK. Are you going to explain why you're both here in my house on a morning when my wife was heading off to work?"

"Well, uh—"

Then Mrs. Robinson comes in from outside. "Well, isn't this nice. The three husbands all chatting together."

"The three husbands?!"

"Uh, yeah, I was getting to that."

"Oops!" Mrs. Robinson says, although she says it kind of mischievously. I can't decide if it's cute or annoying. "Let's reconvene in the living room, shall we?" She passes Michael and goes through the swinging door to the living room.

Brian shrugs and follows.

"Oh, after you, Micelli."  
"Thanks, Bower."

Brian is on the couch next to Mrs. Robinson, but I take the furthest chair. Michael takes the nearest one.

"Now, Gentlemen, we are all gathered here today because my quiet, mousy daughter has a wild streak that I knew little about. It has in the last decade caused her to get married in Las Vegas, twice."

"Mona, what have you been smoking?" Michael asks.

"I am completely sober. Unlike Angela at midnight on Thursday, when she plighted her troth to the man in the checked suit."

"Is this Candid Camera? Where are you hiding Allan Funt?"

Brian tries. "Michael, may I call you that?"

"Yeah, whatever, Brian."

"Angela and I eloped to Vegas in her freshman year of college."

"Right. And she just happened to be a virgin five or six years later on our wedding night."

Oh, poor Angela! I hadn't realized that there was nobody till Bower. And probably nobody since, unless I count.

"We didn't consummate it. And we agreed to dissolve our union. She swore she'd never tell anyone."

"Not even me, her own mother!"

"Right. I filed in Mexico but my Spanish is poor and apparently it didn't go through." I'm guessing he's going to leave out the Department of Sanitation. "We were both unaware of this of course, and she had absolutely no intention of committing bigamy with you."

"Well, isn't that just dandy? Now will someone please explain how Angela got stoned or drunk enough to forget she was definitely married to me on Thursday?"

"Well, uh," I say, "she wasn't. We think."

"OK."

Mrs. Robinson says, "Michael, Angela went off to Reno six and a half weeks ago, to get a divorce from you."

He looks stunned, which he wasn't earlier. Well, not since he first saw two strange men in his house.

"And it went through on Thursday, we think."  
"I thought that was just talk! She always says she's going to leave me when we fight, but she never does."

"Well, this time she did. Not that you were around to be left. And I'm guessing you didn't get served with the divorce papers."

"No, I was in the jungle."

"Right. You may or may not be officially divorced, but in any case, you definitely overlapped Brian for a few years."

"How could she do this to me?" I'm not sure if he's reacting to the divorce or the bigamy. Then he continues, "Or Jonathan! My God, Jonathan is illegitimate!"

"I'm very sorry, Michael."  
"Yeah, thanks, Bri. What the hell did you do to that poor innocent woman to get her to elope with you?"

I expect Brian to say, "Footsies," but he says, "Poetry."

"Poetry?"

Mrs. Robinson says, "Brian is a poet."  
"And Tony? What is he? He looks like a game show host."

I bristle.

"He happens to be second-baseman for the St. Louis Cardinals."

"Oh, that Tony Micelli!"

"Yeah, you want my autograph?"

"Not right now."

"Well, Angela wants your autograph, Michael," Mrs. Robinson says. "On the divorce papers as soon as you receive them. She is understandably anxious to have her marital status cleared up."

"Hold on a minute. How did Angela, who has never followed sports, meet and marry a professional ball player? And have you two been having an affair behind my back?"

"Ay-oh, oh-ay, polygamy or not, Angela was completely faithful to you!" I don't know that for a fact, but I feel like I know Angela. Better than Michael does anyway. "We met a few hours after her divorce went through."

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better."

"Look, I'm sure this has all been very overwhelming to you," Brian says. "Why don't we give you some space to get your head straight?"

Michael looks like he wants to knock Brian's head sideways.

"Good idea. You boys come with me." Mrs. Robinson stands up and it seems best to follow, although I don't know where she's taking us.

"Mona, would you mind telling me where Mrs. Smathers is?"  
"Oh, Angela fired her. Jonathan's all yours. Have fun."

Michael does not look like he's looking forward to this. I'm tempted to offer to stay and help out, but I don't think he'd appreciate that.

Mrs. Robinson leads us outside and then asks, "Where are your cars?"

"I took a taxi."  
"Uh, I brought my van." I point.

"I see. I call shot-gun!" She races towards the passenger seat.

Brian and I look at each other and shrug. Then I go over and open up the side door. He climbs in. Luckily, he's wearing all denim, except for the brown jacket with leather patches. I always wanted a jacket like that. It seems professorial. I guess he can get away with it as a poet.

"Where are we going?" I ask Mrs. Robinson as I buckle up.

"Well, first of all, I need to know your plans."

Brian leans forward over the back of the seat. "Well, I would like to talk to Angela, preferably alone, before we move forward on our annulment. If nothing else, I'd like to say goodbye."  
"And you, Tony?"

I cough. "Um, I'm not sure. I need to talk to her alone, too."

"I see. Brian, I notice you don't have a suitcase with you. Are you traveling light, all the way from San Francisco?"

"No, I left it at my hotel. The Fairfield Inn. I didn't know what would happen with Angela, and I didn't want to make assumptions about whether she would take me back. So a hotel seemed best."

"Wise move. Why don't we drop you off at your hotel? And then you can visit Angela this evening, or tomorrow."

"What about Michael?"

"I've got the feeling that Angela will be kicking him out as soon as possible."

"I hope so! For her sake."

"Of course. Tony, the Fairfield Inn please."

"Uh, you're gonna have to give me directions." Jesus, first I'm everybody's cook and now I'm the chauffeur! Still, I don't feel like spending the day with Brian Thomas, so dropping him off sounds like a great idea.

However, I am getting a little nervous about what Mrs. Robinson is planning for me. A little of the old coo-coo ca-choo maybe?

She directs me to the hotel and Brian gets out. He comes around and shakes my hand. "Nice meeting you, Tony."

"Yeah, you, too, Brian."

And then he goes in.

I look over at Mrs. Robinson. "Where to now, Madam?"

"Let's go for a stroll in the park. It's too early for lunch."

"Sorry you didn't get any of the eggs."

"The eggs?"  
"Yeah, I was makin' breakfast for everyone."

"And he cooks, too," she murmurs to herself.

She directs me to the park and we do stroll. But I don't know what to say to this woman.

Then she says, "So, Micelli, you're in love with my daughter."

"Well, uh, I might be. I mean, I just met her. But she's really special to me."

"She must be. Most men would've hit on me by now."  
"Hey, no offence. You're great-looking! Especially for an older—Well, anyway. There's something about Angie that just—"

"She lets you call her Angie?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then she must be in love with you, too."

"Oh, well, I, uh."

"It's OK, Tony. I'm not going to ask you what your intentions are with my daughter. I mean, obviously you were willing to marry her."

"Well, Mrs. Robinson—"

"Call me Mona."

"OK, thanks. Mona, it's like this, I think Ang—Angela is really special. But my wife died just six months ago—"

"Yes, Angela told me on the way to the train station."

I wonder what else Angela said about me, but I don't think I can ask.

"Anyway, Marie and I were not quite childhood sweethearts, but we did get married young. We eloped."

"Not to Las Vegas I hope."

"No, Atlantic City."

"Well, I guess that was closer."

"Right. Anyway, I've met a lot of other women—"

"I bet you have."

I blush. "But no one like Angela. And now I'm wondering if maybe, I mean once she's definitely divorced from Bower and Thomas, maybe she'll reconsider us getting divorced. I mean annulled."

"Is this a Catholic thing?"

"No, my priest says that Bower is her true husband."

She hits my shoulder. "Why didn't you boff Angela while you had the chance?"

"Ow! We talked about it but we were worried that that would make us more married."

"Exactly. When are you going to get another golden opportunity like that?"

"Well, I need to find out if that's what Angela wants. I mean the married part."

"You know what Angela really needs?"

"Um." I blush again.

"Besides that. She needs a housekeeper."

"You want me to find her a maid?" What am I, a domestic employment agency?

"I want you to be her maid."

"OK, we're getting into a weird area here, Lady."

"I don't mean in fishnets and a French maid's uniform. Unless you're into that. But you can cook and I bet you can clean, too."

"Well, yeah, there's not much to that."

"Laundry?"

"Of course. I've got a six-year-old tomboy at home."

"And you're good with kids. You're perfect!"

"Uh, in case you've forgotten, I have a job. A job that pays pretty well. And I don't want to go work for Angela!"

"This is the off season, isn't it? You could just fill in for a few weeks, maybe a few months, until she finds a replacement. I mean a replacement housekeeper."

"Oh, yeah, Bower will love that! Mary Poppins with a hairy chest!"

"Michael will hopefully be out of the picture soon. And if he's not, I'll work on that."

"Boy, remind me to never get on your bad side! You're like the mother-in-law from Hell!"

"I could be a very nice mother-in-law to a deserving son-in-law. Heck, I'd even take the poet over Michael. But I don't need to settle when I've got you."

"Well, don't you think I should talk to Angela first? I mean it is her life."

"You're going to leave something as important as that up to her?"

"Mona, come on."

"Now just listen to me, Tony. This is what we're going to do..."


	13. Disoriented

**Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for the wonderful response to this story, including you, Anonymous Guest. (At least I think it's all the same person.) I will be posting five or six chapters a week from here on out. And there will be a sequel...**

...

I find myself doodling at work, as I sometimes would in a too easy class in high school. Sometimes I would intertwine my name with a boy's, naming myself Mrs. Angela Crush-Du-Jour. But this time I draw a triangle, and label the points B, T, and M. So one line is BT, another is TM, and the last is MB. It's not an equilateral triangle. It is an unsolvable puzzle.

"Why are you doing algebra?" asks my young assistant Howie when he comes in the open door.

"It's for the Metropolitan Travel Bureau ad," I say off the top of my head. Even distracted, I haven't lost my ability to improvise.

"Oh, of course." Howie is fresh out of college and he's not going to question me. "I thought for a moment it was the Bermuda Triangle and then something starting with M."

"No, they don't book trips there."

"Right. Uh, here are the sketches you wanted to look at."

"Thanks, Howie." The phone rings. "Uh, could you close the door on your way out?"

"Of course." He does so.

I'm not eager to pick up the phone. What if it's one of my husbands? What would I say? I know I'll have to face them eventually, but I was hoping that work would be a refuge.

It keeps ringing so I hesitantly pick it up. "Hello?"  
"Hello, Dear. Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Yes, Mother," I say in a whisper. I've worked so hard to prove to my bosses and my peers, and for that matter my employees like Howie, that my being female has no effect on my professionalism. And this is not a conversation I want any of them overhearing, even if it's just my side of it.

"I want you to know I sat down and had a chat with all your husbands."

It sounds like a soap opera, _All My Husbands._ "And?"

"Well, it was like _Sextette,_ only with half as many husbands."

"Great. If my life has to resemble a Mae West movie, why that one?"

"Hey, be glad it's not _Myra Breckinridge_."

"You're such a comfort, Mother."

"Of course. Anyway, Dear, Michael knows that he's your middle husband now and he's not too happy about it."

"Oh. Where is he?"

"He's home taking care of his son of course. And waiting for his darling wife to come home from work."

"Great." I'm tempted to work late, but I can't avoid him forever. And the sooner I talk to him, the sooner that he'll agree to the divorce. If need be, I'll have Reno send him another copy of the papers.

"As for the other two…."

"Yes?"

"Brian is at his hotel and will visit you later."

"Wonderful." Again, I'm not looking forward to that, but it must be done.

"And Tony..."

"Yes?"

"He's gone back to Brooklyn."  
"Oh." I guess I should've expected that. The poor man came to see me and then he ended up having to make breakfast for everyone and I ran out on him. "Is he mad at me?"

"No, I don't think so."  
Well, that's something. Although it doesn't sound too promising. Still, whether or not he still wants to date me, we are going to have to communicate about our marital break-up.

Someone knocks. "Angela? Are you there?"

Ugh, Jim Peterson. Someone I want to see even less than Michael. But I can't avoid him.

"Mother, I have to go. Can you pick me up at the train station?"

"Don't you want Michael to?"

"No!" I shout into the phone.  
"Uh, you're not there?"

"Sorry, Jim, I'm finishing up a phone call. Please wait a moment." My voice drops to a whisper again, "Mother, please."

"Of course, My Little Chickadee, although you're no angel when the heat is on, night after night, and when you're goin' to town, you go west, young woman, and every day's a holiday, but you done him wrong."  
"Are you through?"

"She only made about a dozen movies."

"Thank God you're not listing Katharine Hepburn films."  
"Well, guess who's coming to dinner. It'll be a long day's journey into night when bringing up—"

I hang up on her and tell Jim to come in.

"Sorry to disturb you, Ms. Bower. Or I'm sorry, is it Ms. Robinson now?"

I had to tell people why I was leaving for six weeks and of course let them know in personnel that my marital status was changing. (More than I realized of course when I left.) No doubt Jim sees the Reno trip as an example of a woman putting her personal life ahead of business, but it was unavoidable. Obviously, I can't let him know about my polygamy!

"You can continue to call me Angela, Jim."  
"Of course, Angela. Did you get the sketches that I gave to Howard?"

"Yes, I did, thank you."

"So what do you think?"

"I think I need more time to consider." And not just the sketches.

...

Mother does pick me up at the station. Either she's forgiven me for hanging up on her or she's decided this will give her more opportunity to tease me.

"How was work today, Dear?"

"Fine."

"Should we pick up some Italian on the way home?"

I glare at her. "Mother."

"Italian food. Or Chinese if you prefer. I doubt Michael's had the time to cook with looking after a toddler all day. And I don't think either of us would want to eat his cooking. It's even worse than yours."

I sigh. "Yes, let's get Chinese I guess. Are you inviting yourself to dinner?"

"Me? No, I have a date later. Besides, I think you need some alone time with Michael."  
"Mother, I am not getting back with Michael! That's the last thing I want to do right now."  
"Of course, Dear. But you do need to kick him out of the house. Unless you want some back-up." She takes one hand off the steering wheel of my car and makes a fist.

I smile. She is funny, I'll admit that. Of course, if I needed muscular back-up, well, I'd probably have picked up Tony in Brooklyn after work. Something tells me he wouldn't mind literally throwing Michael out of the house if I asked.

There's so much I want to ask Mother but I'm afraid of the questions I'll get back. So we only discuss what kind of Chinese food to get and how much. I decide on enough for leftovers, so it'll be one less meal to worry about. Plus, it'll be something to serve Brian if he comes by later.

When we get to the house, I ask, "Do you want to come in?"  
"I don't think I'd better."

I don't blame her. I wouldn't go in if I didn't have to. I'll have to carry in the food myself.

She parked her bike on the porch. She pedals off with a wave and a "good luck." I am definitely going to need that.

I go into the living room cautiously. No one around. Good. I head into the kitchen.

To my great surprise, Michael is cooking! OK, it's rice, but it's still impressive.

"Well, isn't this bringing coals to Newcastle?" I remark, holding up the boxes of take-out.

"Hey, if there's one thing I've learned in my travels, you can never have too much rice."

"Right." I set the Chinese on the counter. "Uh, where's Jonathan?"

"Upstairs in his room." He shakes his head and turns down the stove. "That kid is a lot of work, but worth it."

"Yes, I know."

"I was going to complain about you firing the housekeeper while I was gone, but I guess in the big picture it's a small thing."

"Yes."  
"Listen, I'm sorry I haven't been around much. I'm sorry things got so bad that you went a little crazy."

"I did not go crazy."  
"Oh? A Reno divorce and a drunken Vegas wedding?"

"OK, a little crazy."  
"Anyway, I've been thinking about it, and maybe I can start taking assignments closer to home."  
"That'll be good for Jonathan."  
"But not you?"

"Michael, you know how much we fight when you're around."

"Yeah, but one of the things we fight about is that I'm not around more."

"Michael, I appreciate you being willing to compromise but I just don't think this will work."

He sighs. "I guess when your wife marries another guy, it's kind of a sign it's over."

"Well, yes."

He reaches into his shirt pocket and brings out folded sheets of paper. "Then I guess you'll be wanting me to sign this."

"So you did get the divorce papers! They were delivered in the jungle?"

He shakes his head. "No, they came in the mail today, here, to my home."

"Oh."

"They were forwarded here. Although I guess this is no longer my home."  
"I'll buy you out."

"Angela, you don't have to do that. I should be paying you alimony, and child support."

"You don't have to. I make enough to support me and Jonathan."  
"Thanks for rubbing that in."

"Do you want me to apologize for making a good living?"

"No, Angela, but a man does like to think that his wife isn't entirely independent."

I want to tell him that I need a man for love and companionship, things he never offered me enough of. But I don't think he'd understand.

"Of course, your other two husbands may feel differently about that."

I wince. I'd probably have to financially support Brian if we had stayed together all these years. How much money could a poet make after all? As for Tony, I get the impression that he liked being the breadwinner for Marie. A traditional Italian man like him would not be any crazier than Michael is about me having my own career, not if we were truly married I mean.

"I'll pay child support. How about that? Unless Jonathan's a kids' libber now."  
"Thank you."

He shakes his head and sets down the divorce papers. "Any other woman, and you'd be shaking me down for money."

"Well, I think we've established I'm not like other women."

"No, you're not." He looks at me with those intense dark eyes. "Angela, I really do miss you."

"Michael, you can't live like this. And I can't live like that." We've discussed it, me and Jonathan traveling with him, but it just wouldn't work. Jonathan is still little more than a baby, and I would have to give up my career.

"So it's over?"

"Right," I say softly. Suddenly, I feel sad. I wanted him out of my life, but now that I'm getting that, I feel like I'm losing something.

Then he puts his hand on my cheek and we move closer. The next thing I know, we're in each other's arms, kissing! And I don't think it's kissing goodbye.

And then the doorbell rings.

"Another of your husbands, Darling?"

I blush. "That might be Brian. Mother said he was coming by."  
"Uh huh."  
"I need to annul that marriage, once and for all."

"Right." He sighs and then he says, "I guess you need to end this one, too."

I nod. "I think it's for the best."

"Well, don't say I never gave you anything."  
"Right."

"You got a pen?"

I pull one out of a drawer. "Here."

"Thanks."

I go through the swinging door and through the living room. I hope my lipstick isn't smudged, especially if it's Tony.

"Hello, Brian."

"Hi, is this a bad time?"

I manage not to laugh. "Better than this morning."

"Good." He comes in and I close the door behind him.

"May I sit down?"

"Of course."

He takes the couch, I take a chair.

"Angela, I've been thinking about this all day and I still feel that what we had was special."

"It was Brian, but—"

"Let me finish. It was special. But we're not the same people we were then, you especially."

"Well, no."  
"You were a shy, awkward girl and you've grown into a confident young woman. I still find you very attractive in a different way, but you're not the teenager who gazed adoringly at me when I recited poetry. And now we're basically strangers. So I think an annulment would be a good idea."

"Well, thank you, Brian, that's very—"

"However."

"There's a however?"

I look over at the kitchen doorway. "Michael! Were you eavesdropping?"

"Of course I was eavesdropping. What husband wouldn't?"

Well, he has a point. I'm just glad that it wasn't Tony at the front door tonight.

"It's all right, Angela. I don't mind if Michael knows. Originally, I wanted to speak to you privately, but that was when I still had hope about getting back together with you."

"You've given up on that though, haven't you?" Michael says, a little menacingly.

"Oh, yes. Anyway, the however is that I had some time to go to the library today—Fairfield has a wonderful public library by the way."

"Thank you," I say.

"And I found out that Connecticut allows only a few reasons for annulment. One is in the case of bigamy, but only if one of us was previously married at the time."

"Any high school elopements we should know about, Dear?"

I glare at Michael.

"Or if we're more closely related than we realized at the time, which is unlikely. And the last reason is if one of the partners was incapable of giving free consent."

"Well, that covers the Micelli marriage, doesn't it? Since you guys were drunk, right?"

"Thank you, Michael," I mutter.

"Right. Now in our case, I didn't get drunk till after the ceremony."

"What about—?" I try not to blush. "Lack of you know?"

Brian shakes his head. "Connecticut doesn't care about non-consummation, except in the case of the man having a previously undisclosed physical disability that leads to impotence."

"I thought impotence was a disability."

"Michael, you're not helping!"

"Now, California is more liberal about annulment."

"Of course," Michael says.

"Besides all those reasons, they also offer the reason that one party was underage."

"No, I was two months shy of my 19th birthday."

"Or of unsound mind."  
"Hey, Angela, if you need a character witness—"

"Shut up, Michael," I say, although I know he won't.

"So as I see it, we have three choices. I can go back to Mexico—"

"No!" I'm not taking that risk again.

"Or I can get a Reno divorce. After all, I live just four hours away, and it might be a better retreat than Alaska."  
"Oh, well, that's very kind of you, Brian."

"I'd do anything for you, Angela."

He sounds like he means it. He's such a sweet man. But I don't think I could stand this much sweetness on a regular basis.

"What's the third choice?" Michael asks.

"Oh, I could lie and say I'm impotent."

"Well, you have let almost ten years go by without having sex with her."

"Michael!"

Brian continues to mostly ignore Michael. I wish I could. "Angela, I have been with other women since I lost you. I didn't realize I was being unfaithful of course."

"I forgive you."

"Thank you," he says sincerely.

"Um, a Reno divorce sounds good. Thank you."

He stands up. "I'll be in touch."

"Hey, Brian, how are you getting back to your hotel?"

"I left a cab waiting."

"You got room in that cab?"

"Of course."

"So you're leaving, Michael?" I can't help being surprised. Despite my annoyance with him, I half thought we'd fall into bed together.

He comes over and hands me the signed divorce papers. "Yeah, for good. Well, I'll be back tomorrow while you're at work, to pick up my stuff."

"But where will you be living?"

He shrugs. "I'll put everything in storage till I figure that out. And I might be taking another long trip for awhile, who knows?"

I nod. "Thank you, too."

"Of course."

I set down the papers, stand up, and then realize that I need to hug both of these men goodbye. Handshakes don't seem enough. But how do I do that when they're both here?

Michael comes over and gives me a hug. "Take care of yourself, Angie."

I roll my eyes. Even now, he has to get a jab in. "You, too, Mikey."

He laughs and lets go. "I'll wait outside in the cab."

"Thank you, Michael," Brian says.

After Michael leaves, I say, "So this is it."

"Yes." Brian strokes my cheek. Oh God, not again! But he only pulls me close and strokes my hair. He doesn't kiss me. "You look good as a blonde."

"Thank you," I say softly.

"And without the acne and the glasses and the extra weight and the—"

I pull away. "OK, thank you!"

He laughs, which he rarely does. Then he sighs. "No wonder Tony fell for you."

"You think he fell for me?"

"It's pretty obvious."  
"What did he say?"

"It's what he didn't say. It's like in every poem, the white spaces are at least as important as the words."

"Wouldn't that make haikus the most profound poems of all?"

"Aren't they?"

And he leaves me with that thought.

I go in the kitchen, pick up the pen and jot onto scrap paper:

 _I have three husbands_

 _But I face an empty bed_

 _And all this Chinese._


	14. Jumping on the Bed

When she opens the door, she's wearing the pink robe and towel again.

"Tony!" she breathes. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, uh, I heard you were looking for a housekeeper."

"Yeah. What, what are you doing here?"

"I, uh, I heard you were looking for a housekeeper."

"Well, yes, I am, but—"

"Uh, can I come in?"

"Yes, of course."

So I do. I look around at the messy living room and say, "So, um, about the job. Not for nothing, but it looks like you could use me."

"But you're not a housekeeper."

"I could keep this house for you."

"Oh, well, that's very sweet of you. But you already have a job."

"Well, I'm looking for something to tide me over till Spring training."

"I see." She smiles. "So what are your qualifications?"

"Uh, well, um." I pull her close and she willingly goes into my arms. I kiss her passionately and she completely responds. Then I pull my head back enough to look into those dark, mysterious eyes, waiting to see what happens next.

She softly says, "You got the job."

I swallow and then say, "No kiddin'."

We smile again and resume kissing.

And we live happily ever after.

...

OK, not quite. I mean, that's really what happens when I go to her door Thursday morning, but our lives aren't simple enough to be resolved with a nice big bow on them and riding off into the sunset. For one thing, she stops kissing to say, "I'm going to be late for work."

"Call in sick."

"Oo, tempting, but—"

"Mommy, me hungwy."

"You ever get déjà vu?"

"Sometimes."  
"You ever get déjà vu?"

She shakes her head but she laughs.

"Look, you get dressed and bring Jonathan downstairs and I'll make breakfast."  
"OK, thank you. And this time I promise to actually eat it, no matter who shows up."

"Good."

I head into the kitchen as she goes upstairs. I'm already feeling comfortable in her house, although I wasn't here that long on Monday. I thought Mona was crazy at first, but I could actually see this working, if Angela's OK with it of course. And if, well, a few other things work out.

I smile when she comes in wearing her business clothes. It reminds me of how she looked when we went to the Vegas Department of Records. Of course, she's pretty cute in her pink robe, too. I haven't seen her look bad, even Friday morning with a hangover.

I also smile at Jonathan. He really is a cute kid.

"Monkeys!"

"Monkeys?"

"Uh, yeah, I promised him five songs about monkeys the other day."

"Oh."

"OK, one real quick before breakfast." I do "Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed." OK, it's more of a chant but close enough. Jonathan thinks it's hilarious, especially the "bumped his head" part.

"You're very good at that."

"What, bumping my head?"

"No."  
I shrug. "Practice with Sam, although she's getting a little old for this."

"They grow up so fast, don't they?"

"Yeah."

And it's crazy, considering her career and the fact that we haven't worked out any details, but I suddenly picture having kids with her. I mean, she's not even 30 yet. She could have more, right? But she probably doesn't want to.

I glance at her and she's blushing. Hm.

But for now we concentrate on the kid in the room, and on breakfast. He's at that half-incoherent toddler stage, where they'll talk your ear off if they're not feeling shy, but you can't understand all of it. I'm good at faking understanding though. I think the main thing is they just want someone to listen. Which isn't that different from adults, now that I think about it.

"Monkeys!" Jonathan says at the end of breakfast.

"OK, I'll sing you one more monkey song and then you gotta take a nap so I can take your mom to the train station."

"Kay."

"Do you want to help me tuck him in?"

"Yeah." I look at the little boy. "Uh, if that's OK with you, Pal."

Jonathan nods. So I carry him upstairs as Angela leads the way to his room. I notice it's got a jungle theme, and I silently wonder if that was Michael's idea.

I end up singing the theme to _The Monkees_ , but as a lullaby. Angela laughs but then joins in.

"...Hey, hey, we're the Monkees,  
You never know where we'll be found.  
So you'd better get ready,  
We may be comin' to your town."

Jonathan is asleep by the end. Angela and I smile at each other and then tiptoe out.

I notice a door ajar down the hallway, pinker than I'd expect for any room Michael would sleep in. But then he probably didn't sleep in it much.

"Is that your room?" I whisper. She nods. "And where's the housekeeper's room?"

"Tony, we need to talk."

"Yeah. About a lot of stuff."

"Yes. We can at least get started on the way to the station."

"Kay," I say, imitating Jonathan.

She smiles.

We take my van, although she looks a little dubious about it. It's a '67 Chevy and shows its age, but I love it anyway. I think of how I drove it when I eloped with Marie and a button came off my tux. God, am I really ready to build a new life with another woman?

"So about the housekeeping, how does that fit in with our annulment?"

"Well, uh, I'm not sure I want an annulment."

"You're not?"

"No, I was talking to my priest and he made me see things in a different way."  
"But I would think he'd recommend you end your marriage to a Protestant."

"Well, no, it's not that simple."

"What is it then, Tony?"  
I swallow. I can't exactly get down on one knee when I'm driving. "How would you feel about staying married? I mean to me."

"Oh!"

"I mean we get along really well and we have feelings for each other. I mean, yeah, we've known each other only a week, but I was thinking I could live with you while your other marriages are ending, and we could see how it goes, how it feels to live together."

"But we'd be living in sin. Would you priest approve?" She sounds like she's teasing, although I can't be sure.

"Well, no, we wouldn't be. See, we wouldn't have sex. At least not till we're sure you're no longer bigamous. Besides, if we did have sex, it would be in wedlock, right?"

"Right. Tony, setting aside our marriage, I think you should know that I'm definitely no longer married to Michael. He's signed the papers and I've filed them. And as for Brian, he's going to get a divorce in Reno."  
"Yeah, that's what Mona said."  
She raises her eyebrows. "What else did 'Mona' say?"

I cough. "Oh, different things. But anyway, that's what, six weeks of living together? We could do that."  
"You honestly think we could live in the same house and not go to bed together? For six weeks?"

"Yeah, sure," I say, although I'm not sure of course. "Hell, I could go six months without it. Six years if I had to!"

"I don't think that will be necessary. I should point out though that I don't have a housekeeper's room. I've never had a live-in."  
"Well, I'd have to be a live-in. I can't commute to and from Brooklyn every day."  
"Good point. I suppose you could have the bedroom down the hall. No one's ever used it."

"Great!"

"But wait a minute, Tony! You have a six-year-old daughter!"

"Well, yeah, that's another thing we need to talk about."

"You can't just move her out of Brooklyn to live with a woman and child you hardly know."

"Angie, come to Brooklyn tonight."

"What?"

"I want you to meet Sam and Pop."  
"Tony, this is so sudden." She's trying to joke about it.

"No, really, I've met your parent and child. You should meet mine."  
"I can't just show up and say, 'Hello, Samantha, I'm your new mommy.' "

"Of course not. As far as she'll be concerned, at this point you're Daddy's friend."

"And your daddy?"  
I swallow. "He knows about everything. Vegas and all. Your other marriages."

"And what does he think?"

"He said I should talk to you, but that hasn't turned out to be that easy."

"If I go with you to Brooklyn, who'll look after Jonathan?"

"Your mother."  
"Good old Mona."

"Yeah. See, we've got it all worked out."  
"Well, it's so nice of you to tell me."

"Hey, come on, don't be like that, Angie. Mona saw that I have feelings for you and she wants to help." I don't say that Mona also said Angela has feelings for me, feelings beyond what she's admitted to.

"Go on."

"Well, she'll come over in the late afternoon. Then I'll drive down to New York, meet you in Manhattan, take you to Brooklyn, and then drive you back to Fairfield."

"And then drive back to Brooklyn?"

"Well, uh, I thought I could sleep at your place tonight. In the housekeeper's room."

"There's no bed in it."

"I'll bring up my bed from Brooklyn."

"The one you slept with Marie in."

"Let's not worry about that this minute."

"But, Tony, if you and Sam are moving in, we have to figure these things out."

I can't tell if she's joking now, and in any case she has a point. "OK, do you have a room for Sam?"

"I suppose she could have the sewing room. It's big, with lots of light."

"Thanks." Then I smile.

"What?"

"I was just thinking it might do Sam some good to get out of the city, out into the sunshine."

"And what's going to happen if things don't work out between us? You'll have uprooted her for nothing."

"What makes you think things won't work out?"

"Well, forgive me, Tony, but I don't have a very good track record for marriage."

"Marriage to me will be different."

"Well, it has been so far."

We both laugh. And now we're at the train station. I want to kiss her goodbye but I feel self-conscious all of a sudden.

"Do you want me to meet you at your work tonight?"

She hesitates. "There's a bar a couple blocks down, Sweeney's. Let's meet there."

"You're not ashamed of me, are you, Snookums?"

"No, of course not. But I just got divorced. I mean, as far as they're concerned at my workplace, I divorced Michael last week. I really am not ready to explain you."

"OK, that's fair."

"And we can talk more when you drive me home from Brooklyn."

I grin. "Sounds good." And then I lean over and give her a quick kiss.

She gets out and races for the train. Is she mad at me, or just worried about being late? Then I see her smile and wave from the train. I smile and wave back.

Then I head back to her place, to do some housework and childcare, including singing three more songs about monkeys.


	15. Manhattan to Brooklyn

"Hey, Baby, what's your sign?"  
"Gemini. What's yours?"

"Taurus."

"Hm, stubborn, home-loving, passionate."

"Indecisive, witty, creative."

We grin at each other.

I did feel funny about the idea of meeting Tony at Wallace and McQuade, but I also felt funny about meeting him at Sweeney's, until he actually showed up. Now I feel like we're still who were last weekend.

I did my best to not be distracted at work today, despite Tony's sort of proposal. It would be crazy to stay married, wouldn't it? Yet why am I so tempted?

As for the housekeeping offer, I would like to have someone I like and trust in the house, but would I be paying him? I can hardly ask him to do all that work for free! Yet that would mean Tony is working for his "wife." What about his macho Italian pride?

And, oh, how could we confuse the children like that? Jonathan might adapt. He's so little and he doesn't know what "normal" is. But from Tony's stories, Sam sounds like a very bright little girl. Wouldn't she wonder about this strange woman's whose house she's living in?

And, yes, what if it doesn't work out? It'd be one thing to get divorced/annulled and then try dating, living in our separate homes, our separate states. And quite another to live as a married couple, with or without sex, and then have it fall apart.

And Michael just moved out on Tuesday! What's he going to think when he finds out that I had another husband move in immediately?

I wonder how much of this is Mother's scheming. I tried calling her from work, but she didn't answer. Still, she can't avoid me when I come home tonight, not if she really is minding Jonathan.

"Did Mother show up at the house?"

"Nah, but I left a step-ladder in the kitchen, so Jonathan should be able to get his own dinner tonight."  
"Ha ha."

I called him from work because on the commute it sunk in that we'd left a toddler alone in the house. Yes, Jonathan was napping, but anything could've happened while we were gone.

Tony picked up on the twelfth ring and then hesitantly said, "Um, Bower residence."  
"Tony, is Jonathan all right?"

"Oh, thank God it's you! I was worried it'd be Michael or somebody else you wouldn't want hearing a man answer."

"Tony, is he all right?"

"Jonathan? Yeah, he's fine."

"Oh, good! We shouldn't have just left him like that."

"Yeah, I know, I thought of that on the way back. Uh, I guess we were a little distracted by the chance to talk."

"Yes. We can't let that happen again."  
"You're not gonna fire me for it, are you?"

I was sure he was joking, but I seriously said, "No, it's just as much my fault as yours. Next time we'll get Mother to watch him, or she can take me to the station."

"OK. You have a good day at work."  
"You, too."

He now says, "Angie, it's fine. Jonathan and Mona will have the dinner I made for them before I left."

"Well, good. What are we having?"

"I'll make us something at my place. Sam's probably already eaten at Mrs. Rossini's." Mrs. Rossini is the older lady that's Sam's babysitter, particularly since Marie's death.

"Does Mrs. Rossini know about us?"

"She doesn't know we're married. I told her I met someone in Vegas."

"And what does Sam know?"

"I told you, just that you're my friend."

"And how are you going to explain that you two are moving in with your friend?"

"One step at a time, Angie. Maybe you two will hate each other and we'll drop the whole thing."

I'm not sure how much he's joking. "You're lucky. Jonathan already adores you."  
That cocky grin. "Yeah, I know."

I shake my head.

He escorts me out of the bar and into his van. That in itself is an adjustment, his vehicle. Michael didn't have a car after we got married because he wasn't home enough to make it worthwhile. But before we were married, he had a very nice car. All the men I dated between Brian and Michael had nice cars. Tony's van, well, looks lived in.

As do the clothes he's wearing. Instead of dressing up as he did on Monday, he's in jeans and a T-shirt. That was another reason I hesitated to have him meet me at work. But of course it's a good outfit for housework.

"How did it go today? At the house. I'm sorry I didn't show you where everything was."

"I figured it out, like the laundry room in the basement."

"Oh, good."

"It really is a great house, Angie."

"Thank you. Is that why you want to move in with me?"

"Yeah, that's the whole reason."

Brooklyn is only ten miles away, but it's another world. I've never really been here before. I'm surprised how many kids are out on the garbage-filled street. In my pristine neighborhood, the children have scheduled play-dates, although Jonathan is a little young for that. I do sometimes bring him along when I visit my friends Wendy and Isabel. We all have only children around the same age, Wendy's daughter Jennifer and Isabel's son David.

I have not yet told my friends about Tony, or about the rest of my marital complications. They know I'm back from Reno but we haven't yet met up. I am going to have to tell them something, especially if Tony and Samantha move in. I'm sure Isabel at least will think I'm crazy. Wendy, on the other hand, might support my going crazy, since she's always saying I need to lighten up.

Tony parks the van and then goes over to the kids playing I think stickball. (There's a broom handle instead of a bat.) "Slide, Baby, slide!" he cheers on one kid in a red cap, and the kid slides onto an empty burlap bag. "Yeah, Sam, good girl!"

That's Samantha. She takes off her cap but I still can't tell if it's a girl or a long-haired boy, although at six there are no obvious differences of course. Her face and the knees of her jeans are dirty. But she has a wonderful, warm smile, especially when she sees her father.

The other kids are disappointed that Sam has to go home now but she promises she'll be back tomorrow. Will she miss her little friends if she leaves Brooklyn? It seems like they'll miss her. How can Tony think of taking her away from her home, rough and dirty as it is?

"Sam, this is Mrs. Bower, the lady I told you about."

She wipes her hands on her jeans and holds one out to shake. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Bower."

"It's good to meet you, Sam."

Tony smiles and ruffles her hair. "You eat yet?"  
"With Mrs. Rossini? You kiddin' me, Dad?" Her accent is as strong as is, and it's like hearing a soprano version of him. I can't help smiling.

"Yeah, well, I gotta get Mrs. Bower fed."

"Give her the Rigatoni à la Tony, Daddy, everyone loves that." She's very articulate for her age.

"Sounds good. Thanks." He picks up Sam and puts her on his shoulders. Then he smiles at me and leads the way towards an apartment building. It's run-down but not slummy.

"So, Tony!" screeches a woman in her 40s from an upstairs apartment. "Is that her?"

"Yeah, this is Angie Bower!"

"Pleased to meet ya, Angie!"

"You, too, Mrs. Rossini!" I find myself hollering back.

"Hey, how'd you know that was Mrs. Rossini?" Sam asks.

"See, I told you this lady was smart."

I laugh, since it didn't take much detective work.

Tony has to bend down to get Sam through the front door of the building without bumping her head.

"Set me down, Dad. I can walk. I'm not a baby."

"You'll always be my baby, Sweetheart."

"Oh, Daddy, you're so corny."

He sets her down and she goes ahead of us up the stairs.

Tony looks down at my high heels. "You gonna be OK in those shoes, Angie? It's a few flights up."

"I'll be fine."

He offers his arm and I accept it.

I hate that I'm keeping an eye out for cockroaches and rats, but you hear things.

When we get to his apartment, I see that it's small but clean. I wonder why he never moved to a better neighborhood. I would think he makes enough money to. But maybe he's attached to Pitkin Avenue because he grew up here. He has roots here. But then how can he give it up for an uncertain future with me?

And then a man who looks like a middle-aged version of Tony comes out of the bathroom.

"Grandpa!" Sam runs to him.

He lifts her up and twirls her around. "How's my Sammy?"

"Good, how's my Matty?"

He chuckles. "Good." Then he looks at me. "So?"

"Hey, Pop. This is Angie."

He comes over, still holding Sam, but he shakes my hand. "Good to meet you."

"You, too," I say softly, feeling like I've just been adopted.

"Hey, Pop, you eaten yet?"

"I can always eat."

"Me, too," Sam says, and we all laugh. "Daddy is the bestest cook, isn't he, Grandpa?"

"Just like his mama."

"Yeah, I'll make someone a great wife someday," Tony mutters, looking self-conscious.

"Mrs. Bower, you wanna watch TV? We have color!"

"That sounds nice."

"Let's watch _Mork & Mindy!_"

"What's that about?" I missed a lot of TV while I was away. I didn't feel like watching it in Reno.

"There's a man from outer space and he lives with a girl, but Father Marconi says it's OK because they don't kiss. And it's really funny."

I look at Tony, who shrugs and says, "Or we could watch _The Waltons_."

"Let's watch what Samantha wants."

"I like her!"

Both Micelli men grin and I blush.

 _Mork & Mindy _is funny. But it's hard to concentrate because I feel like I'm auditioning for Sam without her knowing it. I remember the first time I met one of Mother's boyfriends, how betrayed I felt, although Daddy was dead. And I was fourteen, not six.

At one point, Tony's father pats my hand and smiles. It's like Tony's warm smile. I know it means _Be yourself, that's enough._ I want to cry, especially because that has never been enough.

Tony has Sam shut off the TV when we eat. The Micellis tell each other about their day, their words overlapping.

"So you babysat for Mrs. Bower's kid?"

"Yeah. He's real cute."

"Cuter than me?"

"No one's cuter than you, Sweetheart."

"I know." She doesn't say it in a vain way, but as if she's used to her father's praise. "Mrs. Bower, do you really live in a house?"

"Yes, in Fairfield, Connecticut."  
"With trees and flowers and lawnmowers and everything?"

"Yes."  
"Will I get to see it someday?"  
"If you want to."

"Hey, Sam, what do you think of going to stay with Mrs. Bower for awhile?"

"Would I have to go to school?"

"I thought you liked school."

"Yeah, it's OK. Mrs. Bower, did you know that I can read words? And count up to 20!"

"That's wonderful, Sam."  
"Yeah, I know. Are the Fairfield kids smarter than me?"

"Some of them. Not many."

"That's OK. I can probably beat them up."

"Hey, hey, what did I tell you about fighting?"

"Don't take on anyone you can't beat?"

Tony blushes.

His father says, "Don't fight unless you have to, remember?"

"Oh, yeah, that. How long would we stay?"

Tony looks at me and his eyes are asking the same thing.

"As long as everyone gets along," I say.

"Oh, I get along with everybody. But what about Grandpa?"

"I get along with everyone, too, Mia Nipote."

"No, I mean how can you drive a garbage truck in Brooklyn if we're in Confetti-cut?"

"Grandpa's not coming with us, Sweetheart."

"Oh. Will he visit?"

Mr. Micelli looks at me.

"You'd be welcome anytime, Sir."

"Call me Matty."

"Matty."

"Yeah," Tony says, "we just have to keep M-O-N-A away from him."

"That spells 'mona.' What's a mona?"

I answer, "A wild, ravenous beast."

Tony tries not to laugh.

"In Confetti-cut?"

"Mmm, this is really good rigatoni," I say.


	16. Brooklyn to Fairfield

It's not till we're on the road to Fairfield that she asks, "So what exactly did you tell them about us?"

I cough. "Well, uh, I hope you don't mind but I called Pop from your house, to let him know that I wouldn't be back till the evening. And, um, that we have to work out some things but I hoped that you'd let me and Sam move in."

"Uh huh. And Sam?"

"Like I said, she just knows you're a good friend."  
She laughs.

"What?"

"Do you realize that we met only a week ago?"

"Well, yeah. Look, Angie, I know this is crazy, but it's not as crazy if we just lived as man and wife right off, right?"

"Well, yes, but, look, Tony, if there is a possibility of that, we need to talk about it. For instance, I'm not going to give up my career."

"I had a feeling you'd say that."  
"Does it bother you?"

"Well, I've been thinking about that. You're really good at what you do and you love it, right?"

"Right."  
"Well, that's how I feel about baseball. So I had to think about how I'd feel if you wanted me to give up baseball and stay home with the kids."  
"Kids plural? Do you mean Samantha and Jonathan?"

"Well, yeah, and any we might have. If we wanted more. I mean some together."  
"Right. I, I might want some."  
"And would you go right back to work after they were born?"

She sighs. "I don't know, Tony. I suppose I could take off a year or two."  
"But you wouldn't wait till they were in school?"

"That's a long time. Especially if it's more than one. And I don't exactly have the kind of career where I can lose a decade or more."  
"So you'd see it as a loss?" I need to know.

"Tony, that's really unfair! What if you lost a decade from your career?"

I sigh. She has a point, although there are probably a lot more middle-aged people in advertising than in baseball.

"Tony, we come from such different worlds. I am fond of you and I want to date you. But how would a marriage survive these differences?"

"I don't know," I say quietly. "But I think we have a real connection and we can talk to each other, so maybe these things could be worked out. And we won't really know till we try."  
"But, Tony, it wouldn't just be us trying. It would be our children. I mean Sam and Jonathan. They've both already lost a parent in a sense. Obviously, Sam's loss is greater, but Jonathan is going to live without Michael ever in his home again, not just sometimes absent. What if he grows attached to you and things don't work out?"

"I'd like to still be a part of his life, if that's all right."  
"You just met him!"

"How do you know I won't grow attached to him? Or you and Sam might not grow attached?"

She sighs. "That's what I mean."

"Look, Angie, I don't know what the future holds of course. But I have a really good feeling about us. Yes, I'm scared, yes, I know this is crazy. But you got me feeling things I thought I'd never feel after Marie died. Plus, some feelings that no one has ever made me feel. If all that can happen in a week, think what could happen in six more weeks."

Instead of telling me how she feels about me, she asks, "And where are you sleeping tonight? Since there's no bed in the housekeeper's room."

I want to sleep with her of course, but of course I can't. "The couch? It looked pretty comfy."

"OK. And then are you staying home with Jonathan tomorrow?"  
"I could. Unless you don't want me to."

"No, I appreciate you helping. I just need to be clear about this. If you and Sam did move in, when would it be? And do you want me to help with the paperwork with Fairfield Elementary?"

It's the practical side of my Gemini wife. But maybe this is how she deals with feelings when they get too real, too intense. And at least it means she's considering us living together.

"Yeah, I'd appreciate that, although it can't be too bad for kindergarten, right?"  
"Kindergarten? I thought Sam was six."  
"She is. But she was born in August and Marie and I felt like she wasn't ready last year."

"But she's very bright."

"Thanks, but she doesn't always play well with others."

"She seemed to be getting along fine with those kids playing stickball."

"Well, that's her gang."

"Gang?" Angela looks a little shocked.

"Think Little Rascals, not _West Side Story_ ," I say, putting it into terms a movie-loving WASP can understand.

"Oh."

"But she doesn't get along too well with kids that aren't her friends."

"I see."

"Angie, Brooklyn is a tough place to grow up in, so you've gotta be tough back."

"And what happens to her after a few weeks or months of being softened up in Fairfield?"

"Hopefully, she'll learn what I learned through baseball: you can be tough without having to prove it all the time. And there are other ways of being tough, like you."  
"Me?"

"Angie, you are a very strong, brave woman. Well, maybe not when faced with a houseful of husbands—"

To my surprise, she giggles. "Sorry about that."  
"It's OK. But Sam could have a worse female role model than you."

"That's kind of you, thank you. But wouldn't you rather she have a more traditional role model?"  
"She'll still have people like Mrs. Rossini in her life. But this is the '70s. Even a macho guy like me knows things are changing. And I would like Sam to have a career, maybe even be a doctor."

"Why a doctor?"

"Why not?"

"OK. So you and Sam move in. Then what? How are you going to make the transition from us being good friends to being a married couple?"

"Well, after she gets to know you better, and if everything is working out for everyone, then I'll run the idea by her."

"And what if she says, 'Gee, Daddy, Angie's nice. But she's not my mom.' "

"I would tell her that no, you're not her mom but you can still love her and care about her. I mean, if that's how you feel."

"There seem to be a lot of ifs to this situation."

"Well, yeah. But let me ask you something. How would you feel if I decided to do the annulment and then we never saw each other again?"

"I'd miss you," she says softly.

"Miss me? A guy you just met a week ago?"

"Tony, there's so much between dating and marriage. Why can't we explore that more?"

"Look, Angela, either way, if I went and filed tomorrow, or if we stayed married and it fell apart later, it would end. What I'm saying is, let's see how it goes during your, I don't know, separation from Brian. If we can't tell in six weeks whether this has a future, then we probably can't ever tell."

I expect her to argue with me but she says, "I suppose you're right. I think, well, I'm not in love with you, and I don't really believe in love in first sight, but I think there was a connection from the first moment. Yes, we were drunk, but you weren't the first drunk guy who hit on me that night."

"Oh?" I feel both jealous and protective.

"Just the best-looking and the most charming."

"Oh." I feel better.

"And there's something about you that goes even beyond that. Maybe your kindness, I don't know."

"Yeah. You're, I don't know, different. I feel more awake around you. Mentally I mean."  
"Yes."

"Look, I don't have all the answers. But I appreciate you asking the questions. I've got ones of my own, like how I'd feel being married to someone who makes more money than I do."

"But you're a professional athlete!"

"Yeah, but I'm not one of the superstars. I do all right. I make a living. But I would never be able to afford a house like yours."

"So I was right, you're really after my house."

"I'm really after you, Angie. I'd live in Brooklyn with you if I thought you could stand it, but I don't think you could."

"I thought you said I was tough."

"Not that kind of tough."

She doesn't dispute this. Instead she says, "How about you start on Monday?"

"Start?"

"You wanted the job as housekeeper. You took care of my house and son today. Your rigatoni is, as a noted food critic said, the bestest. Your starting salary will be—"

"Ay-oh, oh-ay, you don't have to pay me!"

"Tony, I would feel better about it if I compensated you for your work."

"What, like salary plus mental and dedicated? I mean, dental and medical."

"Yes. If things don't work out, at least you'll have a little extra money. And if they do, well, set it aside for Sam's college fund."  
"Thank you," I say quietly. "It's just, well, Angie, you're my wife! Sort of. If I was the wife staying home with the kids, I wouldn't expect you to pay me."

"But you would have an allowance. Not to mention that I'm going to have explain your presence in my house somehow."  
"To who?"

"To everyone! The neighbors, my tax lawyer Ben, Michael."  
"Oh, right, Michael." It's not that I forgot about him but I conveniently ignored him in my picture of our happy household.

"Yes, he's not going to take too kindly to the idea that I've moved in a gorgeous man only days after he left."

I can't help grinning. "You think I'm gorgeous?"

She blushes. "That's beside the point."

"Can't you tell him that I'm your gorgeous fiancé?"

"That would not help matters."

"Yeah, but what's he gonna say when he finds out that we never got our marriage ended? And who meets a guy in Vegas, gets married, and then turns him into their housekeep—" I break off, realizing that it was my idea to begin with. Well, Mona's actually, but I took it up.

She grins. "You see, Tony?"

"Yeah, I see. So what do you want to do, Angie?"

She sighs. "I think if we don't do this, we'll always wonder if it could've worked. But if you're going to live there and act as my housekeeper, I need to pay you."

"OK. And it's only for awhile anyway. I mean, at most four months, because Spring training starts in February."

"Then why do they call it Spring training? Why don't they call it Winter training?"

"You've always gotta ask the hard questions, don't ya, Angie?"

She grins again.


	17. Morning Commute

I sleep as best I can, knowing that Tony is downstairs on my sofa. How am I going to stand it when I know he's just down the hallway?

When I brought him down some extra blankets last night, I said he could use the shower upstairs. The bathroom downstairs is a half bath. I've got my own private bathroom. How strange it is to think of Tony cleaning all the bathrooms, and other rooms!

But I did come home to a cleaner house last night, and I know that that wasn't Mother's doing. Mother said she had to dash off, and I suppose I couldn't have scolded her too well in front of Tony. But we are going to have to have a little chat about boundaries as soon as possible.

Anyway, Tony said he'd shower in the morning. He's a morning person apparently. I didn't really have a chance to notice last weekend, since those weren't exactly typical mornings. I'm not a morning person. It's one of our dozens of differences.

We've agreed that he won't work this weekend. I'll be home and I can manage. He said he'll make me a couple reheatable meals just in case.

Monday Mother will come over in the morning to help out with Jonathan, while Tony brings Sam and their belongings up from Brooklyn in the van. Perhaps Mother and I can chat then.

"Rise and shine, Angela!" I hear him cheerfully tell me through my bedroom door.

Ugh. I don't know if I can stand six weeks of this. I hope he's not going to be like this when we wake up together on a regular basis. Um, assuming we do stay married I mean.

"Angela?"  
"Tony, give me a few minutes to pull myself together."

"OK. You want me to get Jonathan up?"

"Yes, please."

A couple minutes later, I hear Jonathan exclaim, "Tony!" My son is already attached to him. Oh God, what am I doing? Well, it's an experiment. Part of the Vegas spirit if you will.

I shower and dress and by the time I go downstairs, Tony and Jonathan are chatting away in the kitchen.

"How do you feel about pancakes today?"  
"Tony, I really am not a breakfasty type of person."  
"Ya gotta eat, Angie. Especially with how hard you work."

"Pamcakes!" Jonathan exclaims.

I look and see that Tony has made Mickey Mouse style, but dollar size.

"Those are cute."  
"You want some?"

"Oh, all right." I don't know how I'm going to stick to my diet living with this man. Well, maybe I'll skip lunch.

After awhile, I ask, "Will you have time to take your morning shower?"

He laughs. "Already taken care of."

I now notice that he's wearing a different T-shirt from yesterday, although the same jeans. He must've had it in the van.

"You must get up very early."

"Wait till I start doing my morning jog."

I imagine the sensation he'll cause in this neighborhood in his jogging suit, or maybe just an undershirt and little shorts, then I try to focus on my pancakes.

When breakfast is over, Jonathan says, "Twain," and I don't think it's a literary reference.

"Train, Darling?"

"Uh, yeah, I told him he could maybe go with us when I take you to the station this morning."

"Oh, I suppose that's all right." Better than having Mother come over anyway.

"Twain!"

"Yeah, you're gonna see the train. Chugga-chugga, choo-choo!" Tony does the whistle, too.

Jonathan watches and listens in utter delight. Damn, why does Tony have to be so likable?

And it feels too much like a family when my husband and child both bid me goodbye at the station. For one thing, I can't remember ever doing this with Michael. Even when he was home, it wouldn't occur to him to invite Jonathan along. On the rare occasions when he drove me, we'd argue.

At least Tony doesn't expect a kiss goodbye after I give Jonathan one. We did talk briefly about that in the van last night, how much affection we can show in front of the children.

"After all, if all that's keeping Mork and Mindy in Father Marconi's good graces is not kissing, how are you going to explain our affectionate friendship to Sam?"

"We'll behave in front of the kids. Even Jonathan, since he's pretty observant. And then once we tell them we're involved, we can be mildly affectionate."

"Well, I don't think Jonathan will care. But I still think Sam is going to feel funny about you kissing someone other than Marie."

I didn't mention that he's kissed Betty and whomever. Presumably, Sam knows little of Tony's girlfriends and nothing of his groupies. (And, no, I didn't tell Tony about kissing Michael. There hasn't been a good moment yet. And anyway, Michael is comparatively out of my life now.)

I'm not entirely sure how public I want to go. I mean, I know a lot of these commuters.

In fact, I've only been sitting on the train a minute when Isabel Schaefer comes over! "Hi, Angela."

"Isabel! What are you doing here?"

"Going to New York of course."

"Did you get a job?" She's been a stay-at-home mother, like Wendy.

"No, but I'm going to medical school. NYU."  
"Wow! Why didn't you tell me?"

She sighs and sits across from me. "Ben isn't too happy about it, although we have a wonderful housekeeper."

I bite my lip, not wanting to say a word about my new housekeeper.

"Besides, it wasn't something I wanted to put in a letter to Reno. Oh, and congratulations."

"Congratulations?" How much does she know?

"Is that inappropriate for a divorce? I figure since it was Michael—"

I laugh, including for reasons she couldn't know. "Well, thank you."

"So who's the new guy?"

Oh, no! "Um, new guy?"

"Don't be coy, Angela, I saw you get out of a beat-up old van this morning, driven by a very cute man. And I assume that's the same cute man that Wendy says she's seen going in and out of your house this week."  
"Why didn't you two say something?" I wonder who else has seen him!

"I'm saying something now. So who is he?"

"So tell me about medical school."  
"It's hard but fascinating. Ben disapproves, although as a tax lawyer, he's happy about the educational deduction. Now tell me about your hunk."

I look around to see if there's anyone else I know.

"Angela, what are you so uptight about? You're divorced. You're allowed to have a love life again."

I go sit by her and start whispering, just in case. "His name is Tony Micelli and we had a drunken Vegas wedding and it turns out I'm still married to Michael, or I was. I'm not sure if the papers have been processed yet. Oh, and my teenage elopement was never dissolved, so I might have as many as three husbands!"

"OK, OK," she says in a normal tone of voice, "if you don't want to tell me, don't tell me."

"Isabel," I whisper, "I'm serious!"

She stares at me. "You are, aren't you?"  
Then I explain the whole thing, less frantically and with more, but not all, details.

"Oh, Wendy is going to love this!"

"You can't tell her!"

"Angela, that's a little unfair. You're both my best friends."

"Can't it be doctor-patient confidentiality?"

"I'm not a doctor yet. And you're not my patient, although I think you may need a good therapist."

"Couldn't this be practice in confidentiality?"

"Oh, all right. But why don't you want Wendy to know?"

"You know what she's like. She's going to think I should jump Tony's bones, no matter who I'm married to."

"And you don't want to?"

I blush. "No, I want to. But it's not my style. And there are all these other issues we need to work out."

"But you're not getting it annulled?"

"No, not yet."

"I don't know about all this, Angela. I mean, he sounds nice, but you hardly know the guy. What if he's a psycho killer? Or at least a gold-digger after your money?"

I think of joking with Tony about him wanting my house, but they were just jokes. I tell Isabel what I told Mother a week ago, "He has an honest face."  
"He has a handsome face and you of all people are thinking with your hormones."

"Is that your opinion as a doctor?"

"No, that's my opinion as a friend. But that's not to say it might not work out. I just think you should be careful about this."

"Careful in what way?"

"Well, do you have to live together? Couldn't you just date?"

"I think he's looking for something more serious."

"This guy's wife died just six months ago, right? He needs to mourn her longer. Maybe he's one of those men who can't function without a wife."

I think of his skills with housework and cooking, not to mention his ability to get women into bed. "No, I don't think so."

"And what about you? I can almost imagine you getting drunk enough to get married to a stranger, but that's no reason to stay in that marriage. Why can't you enjoy your freedom for awhile? I mean, once you're actually single again."

"I know. It is all crazy. It's just."

"Just what?"

"I think I'm falling for him."  
"Oh, Angela!"

"And not just his looks or his charm."

"Does he know?"

"We haven't fully talked it out."  
"But you're married!"

"I know, I know. And keep your voice down."  
"Sorry," she whispers.

"If it is just an infatuation, well, then probably the reality of living together, particularly with our children around, will help me see that faster than if we did just date."

"Yes, what about the children?"

"Jonathan is already crazy about him. And Sam, Samantha, his daughter, seems to like me."

"But they haven't met each other yet, have they? A six-year-old girl is not going to appreciate an instant toddler stepbrother."  
"True. But just suppose, hypothetically that you and Ben got divorced—"

"There are days that that isn't that hypothetical."  
"Oh, Isabel, I'm sorry."

She shakes her head. "Go on with your hypothesis."

"Well, what if you dated a man with his own child, and that child would have to adjust to David? And vice versa."

"Those are a lot of hypotheticals. But I see your point. It's just, you two are going to be simultaneously living together, married, and celibate?"

I imitate Wendy, "It sounds like me and Herb."

Isabel laughs. Then she sighs. "As your honorary physician, I advise you to take care of yourself: emotionally and financially, as well as physically."

"Thank you, Doctor." But that's easier said than done.


	18. Marty's Melody Room

"You're moving to Connecticut? On Monday?"

"Yeah, Philly, can you help out?"

"This is about a broad, ain't it?"

"Well, a woman, yeah."  
"A woman who ain't a broad. Is she a chick?"  
"Yeah, I guess you could say that. But mostly she's a lady."

"You're moving in with a lady?"

"Yeah."  
"How much of a lady could she be if she wants to live with you?"

"Can you help me move or not?"

"I might be able to, but you gotta tell me more."

Me and Philly go way back, to when we were kids. We both got into trouble a lot. I grew out of it. He mostly did. Well, I guess you could argue that being an accessory to bigamy is bigger than shoplifting and stealing street signs, but I didn't exactly do it as a prank or to look cool.

I've given this some thought, what to tell people in Brooklyn. I mean besides Pop and Father Marconi, who I can trust to keep a secret. If I tell someone with a big mouth, which would be most of the people in the neighborhood, soon everyone's gonna know. And just in case things don't work out, well, I'd like to be able to move back.

I gave my landlord thirty days' notice. And, yeah, that's over two-thirds of the six weeks that it'll take Brian to get his divorce. I suppose if I did have to move back after the thirty days, and couldn't get another apartment, me and Sam could move in with Pop, although it'd be crowded.

Anyway, I am definitely not telling anyone that me and Angela are married, even if I leave out her other husbands. I'm not even going to say we're engaged, although that's sort of what we are. And I am definitely not going to tell them that I'm gonna be a housekeeper!

"I met this nice lady in Vegas—"

"I'll bet you did."  
"Philly."  
"Sorry, go on."

"And, well, she just got divorced and she needs a man around the house—Don't say it."  
He holds up his hands defensively. "What?" he says as innocently as he can, which isn't much.

"Like a handyman." Not entirely a lie. I figure I'll mow the lawn and do some outdoor work. Shovel snow when winter comes, assuming I'm still there. Philly doesn't need to know I'll also be ironing and baking and all that.

"They don't got handymen in Connecticut?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"And why do you gotta move in with her? Does she need her gutters cleaned on a daily basis?"

The way he says that, well, talk about gutters! But I can't get too mad at him when I'm asking for a favor.

"No, but there's other stuff I could do for her."  
"Uh huh."

Oh, forget it! "All right, all right, I'm gonna be her housekeeper! Now will you help me move or what?"

He stares at me. "Housekeeper? As in maid?"

"Sort of."

He shakes his head. "Tony, Tony, you used to be a legendary ladykiller. What did your teammates call you, Batboy?"

"Batman."  
"Yeah, right. I know you ain't been the same since Marie died, but where's your pride? You're moving to Connecticut to wash some rich WASP's dainties?"  
I try not to blush. I hadn't really thought about that part. I guess I was figuring she'd wash them herself, like Marie always did.

"This must be some WASP. And some dainties."

"Look, Philly, let's just forget the whole thing." Maybe I'll ask Tiny instead. He could lift the heavy stuff easier anyway.

"What, you kiddin' me? Now I gotta meet this broa—lady."

"You say one word out of line to her and so help me—"

"Hey, relax, I can be a gentleman."  
"You can?"

"Well, I could try anyway."

"OK." It's not like he'll see much of her on Monday anyway, since she'll be leaving for work.

"Hey, let's hit Marty's before Happy Hour's over."

I haven't been to Marty's Melody Room since I got back. I've missed it, drinking beer, shooting pool, the works.

It hits me. There won't be any place like Marty's in Fairfield. And even if there were, it's not like Marty's, where everybody knows my name and they're always glad I came. I am gonna miss it, and other parts of Brooklyn.

But I'm also kind of in love with Angela's house. It's a white colonial with a nice lawn out front. (Yeah, the lawn I'll have to mow.) Two stories, plus the attic and basement of course. She and I joke about me being after her house, but it really is a great house. And I think Sam will love it, too, especially after living in an apartment.

And, yeah, I know there are things she'll miss about Brooklyn, too. But it's not like we can't visit.

Marty's is packed, like always on Saturday nights. That's another thing, the whatdoyoucallit, person per square foot ratio is completely different in Fairfield. But we find a table, even if we do have to share it with Tiny, who takes up a lot of footage by himself.

"Tony, where you been hiding yourself?"

"Yeah, Stranger, long time no see."

Oh, shit, Theresa! How could I have forgotten she usually works Saturdays?

"You ashamed of how the Cards did, is that it?" Bobby Governale asks, taking an empty chair.

I didn't know he was in town. He's my very best friend, even closer than Philly or Tiny. But he travels a lot, as a professional accordionist, and we don't exactly talk every day. I might tell him what happened in Vegas, especially since he's good at keeping secrets.

"Well?" Theresa puts her hands on her hips.

"He went to Vegas," Philly blurts out. "And met a girl. Sorry, a lady."

I glare at him. Good thing I didn't tell him the rest. I wonder how long it'll take before he says I'm going to be a lady's maid.

"I'm sorry, Tone, but they were gonna find out anyway, when you move to Connecticut."  
"Wait, I thought you met this lady in Nevada. Is there a Vegas, Connecticut?" Tiny asks Bobby.

Instead of answering that, Bobby asks me, "Do you need help moving?"

I love this man! "Yeah, thanks."

"When's the move?"

"Monday."

"Monday. And you met her when?" Tiny asks.

"Um, Thursday before last," I mumble.

"OK, we need to talk." Theresa yanks me out of the chair and drags me to the back room.

"Uh, Theresa—" I do not need this right now. I mean, I don't need the aggravation, and I also don't need what I think she's gonna offer me. I can't do that to Angie! It'll be tough but I'm gonna wait out the six weeks. She's important enough for that.

"Tony Micelli, have you gone crazy?"

"Uh, no." At least not much.  
"Marie just died six months ago and now you're shacking up with someone?"

OK, I was not expecting that, a lecture on morality from Theresa Delvecchio.

"It's not like that."  
"OK, so what is it like?"

"She's a nice girl."  
"Yeah, a 'lady.' What does that mean, she's got money?"

"Yeah, she's got a little money."

"So, what, you're her kept man, her gigolo?"

"Ay-oh, oh-ay, I ain't nobody's gigolo!"

"Wait till I tell Father Marconi!"

"He already knows," I say quietly. I almost say that it was sort of his idea, but I really can't get into that.

"He knows?"

"Yeah, and he approves."

"He approves of you shacking up with some 'lady' you met nine days ago?"

"We're not gonna do anything."  
"Then why the hell would you live with her?"

I almost laugh. Theresa wouldn't understand why anyone would date if they weren't going to bed, let alone live platonically together. "I mean not till we get to know each other better."

"Tony, I know you were married for a few years, but there is this thing called dating. You know, you go out to dinner, maybe dancing or a movie or bowling. You don't rent a U-Haul in the second week."

"Yeah, I know, but she's, I don't know, different."  
"Holy shit! You're in love, ain't ya?"

"Of course not!" And if I were, I wouldn't tell Theresa.

"But you might get there. I mean, you're taking Sam along, ain't ya? That's a pretty big step in itself."

"I can't just leave her behind, can I?"

"Does she know she might get a stepmother?"

"Theresa, I really need you to shut up."

"So what are you doin' for this lady?"

"Various things."  
"Yeah? But not the various things you've done for me."

I blush a little. "No, not yet."  
"And you're retired now? I mean from other women."

"Yeah, I'm retired."  
"Jesus, the Benedettis will wear black for a week!"

I can't help laughing. Theresa is crude but she is funny. Like the guys actually.

"Thanks."

"Well, good luck to you up in Connecticut. Don't forget us peasants down here."

"I could never forget you, Theresa."

She smiles and gives me a big kiss but then immediately heads back out there and says, "OK, what are you bums drinkin' tonight?"

I wipe my mouth and then return to the table, ready to face the teasing. After all, I'm gonna miss that, too.


	19. Moving Day

This time I am fully dressed and my hair is dry when I answer the door. So of course it's Mother.

"Angela Katherine Robinson! Are you showing your calves?"

I roll my eyes. The use of my maiden name, when I'm married to two or three men, is a particularly nice touch.

"I mean it. That's practically a miniskirt! It wouldn't have anything to do with your new roomie, would it?"

"Mother, I need to talk to you about how you maneuv—"

"No need to thank me, Dear. Your happiness is all that matters."

"Mother, if you hadn't come up with this crazy housekeeping idea—"

"Then the house would be a mess and you and Jonathan would be starving."  
"That is not the point. Tony and I were perfectly capable of deciding what level of relationship we wanted."  
"Oh, please. If I left it to you two, it would probably take almost a decade before you'd admit that you love each other."

"We don't love each other!" Well, at least I don't think we do, not yet.

"Well, give it a little time. Say six weeks?"

I want to yell at her or shake her or at least tell her calmly and rationally to butt out of my love life. But I hear Tony's van pull up. I smooth my hair with my hand. She grins.

"I'm warning you, Mother, if you say anything to embarrass me or Tony—"

"Moi?"

I shake my head and go to the door to greet Tony. He called on Sunday night and we agreed that he could leave most of the furniture in Brooklyn, just bring the beds and dressers, since it's not like he'll have to furnish the living room and so on. (I tried to imagine his beat-up but comfortable old sofa in my living room.) And then there are their clothes and personal belongings.

He said, "In that case, I probably only need one of my friends to help me move." He sounded relieved. I haven't moved in awhile, and hopefully won't have to for a very long time, but I think it's high on the list of stressors. Yes, along with divorce.

I go out to the van and Mother follows.

"You boys need any help?" Mother asks.

Tony looks at both of us, neither exactly dressed for moving day. "Uh, no, that's OK."

"Who's the redhead?" This, not from Tony's friend, but from Sam.

"That is Mrs. Bower's mother, show some respect."

Sam shakes her head. "She don't look like no mother I ever saw."  
"Thank you," Mother says sincerely.

Sam, Tony, and his friend get out of the van and Tony makes introductions. His friend is Bobby Governale, whom I feel like I already know from Tony's stories.

"So you're good with the squeezebox?" Mother asks Bobby. She is incorrigible!

"Enough to turn pro."

"OK, let's get moving," Tony says, possibly punning. "We've gotta put everything into the living room, then I gotta take Angela to the train station, and then I gotta register Sam at Fairfield Elementary, and then I gotta—"

"Aww, Dad, can't I have a ditch day?"

"That's the spirit, Kid!"  
"Mother, don't encourage her."

"Sam, how am I gonna get everything done today if I've gotta look after you?"

"But, Daddy, I can help!"

"And I'll watch both kids, Tony," Mother offers.  
"Oh, yeah, where's the baby? I wanna see Mrs. Bower's cute little baby!"

"Well, he's a little more than a baby, Sweetheart."

"But you said he's too little to shoot baskets. Daddy's gonna put up a basketball hoop," she informs me.

He looks at me a little guiltily. "Uh, if that's OK."

"Of course," I say, but I'm starting to feel a little overwhelmed. And then I notice that neighbors are starting to gather in their yards, watching all this fuss and noise on quiet Oak Hills Drive. "Why don't we get everything moved in and then we can decide what to do next?"

"You're the boss," Tony teases, and I try very hard not to blush.

Mother, Sam, and I will carry in the smaller items, very small in Sam's case, while the two men bring in the furniture. The men are wearing jeans and T-shirts since it's a mild day in early October. I try not to ogle Tony, but Mother isn't shy about ogling either man. It's very clear that she finds Tony attractive, but not as if she's going to pursue him, more like an abstract appreciation. I don't know what I would do if I had to compete with her for him. But I suppose, as Tony said, he could've been with Betty and he instead chose me.

When Sam first comes in, she says, "This is your living room? You could play basketball in here!"

"I don't recommend it, Honey. Mrs. Bower has some valuable knickknacks."

"You found that out in Vegas, didn't you?"

Tony and I both glare at Mother.

"What's a knickknack?" Sam asks.

"It's kind like a tchotchke."

"Oh."

"Come on, we've got a lot more to move in."

When we're done, Jonathan cries, "Mommy!"

"Ooo, is that the baby?"

"You'd better bring him down, Angie, so they can meet."

I nod. I need to say goodbye to Jonathan anyway, before I leave. In a way, I'm tempted to make this a ditch day myself, but I just can't see calling into work that I have to help my new housekeeper get settled in.

When I go to lift Jonathan into my arms, he excitedly says, "Tony here?"  
"Yes, Darling, Tony is here. He's going to be here awhile." I can't say for good, forever. But for now, yes.

He grins. I wonder how much he understands.

"Tony brought his little girl. Well, she's bigger than you."

"Play?"  
I wonder if she knows how to be gentle with a smaller child. She seems so rough and wild in some ways. Suddenly, I feel protective of my baby, even if he's no longer a baby.

"Yes, she might play with you."

I take him downstairs, hoping for the best. If the children don't get along—and let's face it, they're both in different ways at difficult ages—I don't know what we'll do. Not that I expect them to love each other on sight, but they're both used to being only children, and now we're just throwing them together. And of course they have no idea that they're step-siblings.

When I return to the living room, holding Jonathan protectively, Sam looks up at him and says, "Hello, Jonathan. My name is Samantha Micelli, but you can call me Sam." And then she makes a perfectly horrible face!

To my surprise, he laughs. "Sam."

"Yeah, Sam."

"They love each other already!" Mother says.

Tony and I look at her and then each other, and then we look away.

"Don't you need to get to the train station?" Bobby asks. I've noticed he doesn't talk much, but when he does it's to the point, in his almost deadpan voice.

"Yes, I do." I hesitate and then say, "Mother can take me." Much as I want to be alone with Tony, even if it's only for a few minutes in the car, I don't think it's wise to leave Mother around Bobby Governale, even with the children as chaperones. Even if she didn't hit on him, she'd likely tell him embarrassing things about me, or maybe even me and Tony!

She looks disappointed but she says, "OK, give me your car keys." She biked over today. She loves bicycling and will tell you at the drop of a hat how good it is for the thigh muscles.

I kiss Jonathan goodbye and then wave to the others.

On the way to the station, I say, "Mother, can you behave yourself today?"

"I thought I was pretty restrained. I didn't say a word about the fact that you and Tony will have separate beds. And separate bedrooms?"

I blush. "We're not going to do anything, at least not until I'm divorced."  
"Divorced from which husbands?"

I blush more. "Well, I must be divorced from Michael by now, or nearly. And then it's six weeks or so till it's over with Brian."

"And Tony?"

I sigh. "We'll see how things go. And then, well, we might not get divorced."

"I see."  
"Oh, Mother, you may think you're Machiavellianly clever, but we do see through you. You hope that Tony and I will give in and have sex if we're living together, but we're stronger than that. He said he could go six months or even six years without it!"  
"And you believed him?"  
"Well, maybe not six years."  
"Not much of a compliment to you, is it?"

I hadn't thought of it in that way. I'd thought of it as willpower.

"Or to him either. Angela, you mean you're going to live with a hunk like that, a hunk you're married to, and not go to bed with him?"

"So you admit your scheme!"

She shrugs. "It didn't take a fiendish genius to set this up. But go ahead, prove me wrong. I just think you'd be a lot happier proving me right."

I don't say anything else until we arrive at the station shortly after.

"Have a good day at work, Dear."  
"Yes, thank you, Mother."

"And just think, you'll be coming home to whatever Tony cooks up."

I shake my head but then I laugh. Incorrigible.


	20. Walk in the Park

"Daddy, my room is so big! I love this house!"

"I'm glad, Sweetheart, but we still have five more boxes to move up."

"OK!" She takes one that's a little heavy.

"You sure you can manage that?"

"Oh, yeah." She staggers up the stairs.

Mona looks at me. "She's adorable."  
"Thank you."  
"You and Angela are going to make such beautiful children together!"

"Oh, please don't do the give-me-grandkids thing, Mona!"

She grins. "Hey, no hurry."

"Good. And please don't say anything in front of the kids. As far as they're concerned—"  
"You two are 'platonic housemates.' " She does the little finger-quotes.

I shake my head and grab a box. I meet Bobby on the way down.

I quietly tell him, "Listen, Bobby, thanks again." As soon as I realized I didn't need the whole gang helping me move, he was definitely my first choice. Yeah, it would've gone faster with Tiny, but I know he would've accidentally said the wrong thing. (As opposed to Philly, who would've done it deliberately.)  
"My pleasure."

I wonder if he's interested in Mona. Yeah, she's older, but I don't think he'd care. I'm not sure how I'd feel about my best friend dating my mother-in-law. Or what Angie would say! I know, I know, I'm getting ahead of things.

When everything's moved upstairs, Bobby says, "So how do I get to the train station from here?"

"Oh, I can take you," Mona offers quickly.  
"On what?" I ask. "Your bicycle?"

"Well, I can borrow Angela's car. I still have the keys." She swings them like she should be wearing a Zoot suit.  
"Be home in time to meet her train," I whisper.

"I'll try. And if not, you can get her in your van."

I shake my head. I was hoping Mona would help me out with the kids, especially Jonathan, today, but I see that that's not going to happen.

"What's next, Daddy?" Sam asks after Mona and Bobby leave.

I look at her. It would simplify things to just take her down to the school, register her, and see if they'll let her start today. But then I think of how we don't see much of each other during the season, and the poor kid has been without both of her parents most of the time this year. (Even before Marie died, she was in the hospital a lot.)

But we can't just have a daddy-daughter day, since there's also Angela's kid. (He's napping, or at least lying down, since I couldn't think what else to do with him during the move.)

"Well, why don't you watch _Sesame Street_ with Jonathan?"

"I'm too old for _Sesame Street_ , Dad. I like _Electric Company_ now."  
"Yeah, but you could explain it to him."

"Like a teacher?"

"Sure, like a teacher."  
"Can I hit his hand with a ruler like the nuns do?"

"No!"

She's actually OK with him, at least at first. I bring Jonathan downstairs and set him on the couch. Sam is impressed that Angela has a channel changer, so for awhile she plays with that and I don't know how much of _Sesame Street_ they actually see.

Then Jonathan starts demanding the changer, and they squabble just like brother and sister. I guess in a way I should be glad, but it means more aggravation. Finally, I have to get the kitchen timer and make them switch off every five minutes. I try to make it into a game, to see how quickly they can switch, and they do seem to have fun. I hear them laughing together, which is better than crying or screaming.

And meanwhile, I do my best to unpack for both me and Sam, and figure out what has to be done today and what can wait till tomorrow. Maybe I'll take them to the park or something. Isn't that what nannies do? And I'm sort of Jonathan's nanny, right?

When I'm done unpacking, I go back to the living room and they're laughing their heads off at commercials. And not just the funny ones, I mean ones that are funny to adults. I wonder what Angie would think.

"Calgon, take me away!" Sam says melodramatically and Jonathan dissolves into giggles. It must be nice to be so young you can laugh at stress.

"OK, that's enough TV for now. Let's go to the park."

"Yay, the park!" Sam says, and Jonathan copies her.

I put the kids in the van and take them to the park Mona had us stroll and plan in last week.

"This is the biggest park ever! Well, it's smaller than Central Park, but it's bigger than most parks, right, Daddy?"

"Well, some, Sweetheart."  
"Park," Jonathan remarks. He's doing his best to hold up his end of the conversation.

It's a beautiful day, with the leaves all yellow, orange, and brown, and I love seeing the kids run around in the cool sunshine, although Jonathan can't keep up with Sam of course. I think about taking the kids and Angie to the park on the weekend. She works too hard. She needs to relax. And we need to do some "family" stuff, get the kids used to the idea of us all being together, so that when we spring the marriage on them, they'll be happy about it. I hope.

When Jonathan gets tired, I pick him up and put him on my shoulders. Then we '"race" Sam, though I try to just walk quickly. Jonathan urges me on, like a little jockey. "Tony, Tony, go, go!" The race ends in a tie.

"What do I win?" Sam demands.

I move Jonathan off my shoulders and into my arms. "Well, we all won so I guess we win..."

"Ice cream!"

"Scream!" Jonathan echoes.

"I was thinking more like lunch."  
"Ice cream for lunch!"  
"Scream for lunch!"

"Why, hello there, Jonathan. Who are your friends?"

I look over and see a short, blonde woman with a little girl about Jonathan's age, coming towards us. Since I don't think Jonathan is articulate enough for introductions, I say, "Hi, I'm Tony Micelli and this is my daughter Samantha."

"I'm Wendy Wittener and this is Jonathan's friend Jenny."

Jonathan does a version of the scary face Sam did when they met earlier. Jenny screams. Sam laughs.

"Uh, sorry, about that."

"Jenny scream," Jonathan observes.

"Yeah, now say you're sorry."

"Sowwy."

"Kay," says Jenny.

"You're good with kids," Mrs. Wittener says.

"Thanks."  
"And you're new to the neighborhood, aren't you?"

"We moved here today," Sam says.

"How nice. I hope you like Oak Hills."

"Thanks. Uh, well, we've got a lot of stuff to do today, so I'm afraid we've gotta get going."  
"Of course. Nice meeting you, Tony. And Sam."  
"Bye!" Then Sam runs back to the van.

"Goodbye." I go catch up with Sam, Jonathan still in my arms. I wait till both kids are buckled in before I say, "That was a little rude running off like that."  
"I don't like her."  
"The little girl with the pigtails? Why? Because she screamed?"

"No, the lady. She likes you but she has a wedding ring. I saw."

"She was just being friendly."

"Oh, Dad." She shakes her head, like I'm hopelessly naïve.

"Well, anyway, let's go home and have lunch and then we'll figure out what we're doing this afternoon."

"Can we watch more TV? Mrs. Bower has a very nice TV."

"Yeah, she does, Honey, but too much TV is bad for you."  
"I know, it makes your eyes fall out."

"Yick!" says Jonathan.

Instead of letting them watch TV while I make lunch, I sit them at the kitchen table and we take turns telling stories off the top of our heads. Jonathan and Sam find each other's stories hilarious, Jonathan because he thinks Sam is kindergarten's answer to Lucille Ball, and Sam because Jonathan can barely string three words together at a time. It's a tough act to follow, especially when I'm cooking, but at least they don't boo me.

Jonathan is a finicky eater and he has a bit of a tantrum during lunch.

"Babies are hard work, aren't they, Dad?" Sam asks after I put Jonathan down for another nap.

"Yeah, sometimes. But they're worth it."  
"I guess."

"Well, tomorrow you can spend the day with the big kids."

"Do I have to?"

"Sam, do you like it here? I mean in Fairfield."

"Yeah, it's quieter than Brooklyn, but everything is green and clean." Then she starts singing a song whose lyrics are "Green and clean. Clean and green."

"Well, everybody here has a job they have to do. And your job is going to school."

"But I don't make any money at it."

"Well, no, but it's what big girls do."  
"How much money do you make, Dad?"

"Uh, I'm not sure." Angela and I haven't discussed it yet, other than she said she'd pay me the going rate, whatever that is in Fairfield.

"You took a job without asking about the money?"

"OK, next year you're negotiating my contract with the Cards."  
"OK. Are you still going to play baseball?"  
"Yeah, when it's time again."  
"Will we have to move away from Confetti-cut?"

I've tried to correct her, but Pop thinks it's cute the way she says that. She can do nothing wrong in her grandfather's eyes of course.

"No, we'll stay here as long as everyone gets along."  
"Then I hope it's forever and ever."

"Me, too," I say quietly. And then I have her help me do the dishes, "in a real dishwasher!"


	21. Fuzzy Faith

"So how did it go today?" I eagerly ask Mother when she picks me up at the station this evening.

"Well, Bobby told me to look him up the next time I'm in the city."  
"Not that!" Well, I'm not entirely indifferent to Mother's attempt, perhaps already successful, to seduce Tony's best friend. But I'm much more curious how things went with the rest of the moving and afterwards. "How are things going with Sam and Tony in their new home?"

"They seem to be settling in fine. When I got back from seeing off Bobby, Tony was about to go grocery shopping. So I watched the kids, since I figured it'd be easier for him without them. Plus, he looked a little frazzled."

I hope it's not going to be too much for Tony, looking after both kids and the house, not to mention doing all the other things I need a housekeeper for. Yes, he's been caring for Sam, but not for very long, and he has his father and Mrs. Rossini to help. And their apartment obviously is smaller than my house.

"But he also seemed happy. And it'll be easier tomorrow, because Sam will be at school in the morning."

"Right." I meant to help with that more. Maybe I can go with them when he registers her. I could catch a later train.

"The kids are getting along like a house on fire, and of course Samantha adores me."  
"Of course."

"It'll be fun having a little girl around, won't it? Someone to dress up."

I laugh. "Sam is strictly a jeans and T-shirt kind of girl."

"Well, we'll buy her an Easter outfit. I think she'd look adorable in ruffles and bows."

I don't even want to think about Easter. Too much can happen in the meantime. And I don't want to argue about trying to make Tony's little tomboy more feminine, especially when I have no idea how he'd react to that. She would look cute though.

When we get home, Tony greets me with a very dry martini, straight up with two olives. I thank him but glare at Mother. I don't like the idea of her telling him my likes and dislikes.

"Dinner will be ready in half an hour. Meanwhile why don't you take a nice bubble bath?"

"Calgon, take me away!" Sam says like she's Juliet doing the death scene.

"Cawgon!" Jonathan echoes mournfully.

"Don't ask," Tony says, but Mother says, "The power of advertising. Doesn't it warm your heart, Dear?"

It's so sweet of Tony to think of my long day at the office, when I suspect his day has been even longer. Maybe I can offer to share my bathroom with him. I mean when I'm not using it of course.

I wish I could kiss him for his thoughtfulness, but of course I can't in front of the kids and Mother. This is not going to be easy.

But the bath is lovely. Usually when I come home, I mean in the days of past housekeepers, I would rush through dinner, dismiss the housekeeper, spend some time with Jonathan, and then try to work on whatever account I'd brought home. But I think this will be a less stressful evening.

When I step out of the bath, I don't want to get dressed again. I wish I could go downstairs in my bathrobe and towel. If it were just me and Tony, or even me, Tony, and Jonathan, I could. But I can't be that informal in front of his sharp-eyed little girl. Not to mention my sharp-eyed mother.

I do put on just jeans and a T-shirt. I can be that casual.

Sam is surprised when I come downstairs. "Wow, Dad, Mrs. Bower is a fox in normal clothes!"

I blush and he grins. I risk looking at Mother, who looks very smug. Jonathan just looks confused, probably at the idea of Mommy being an animal.

Mother has of course invited herself to dinner. I hope she's not planning to make a habit of this. Her hints about what a wonderful cook Tony is, supported by the kids' agreement, are not exactly subtle.

"It is delicious, Tony."

"Thanks. You'll have to tell me all your favorites." Those eyes, those big, melted chocolatey eyes! No wonder so many women have gone to bed with him! (At least I assume it was a large number, although he does seem to have been faithful to Marie in the seven years they were together.)

I remind myself that Mother and the children are watching, so I look away and briskly say, "I'll make a list."

I send Mother home after dinner, but she promises the kids she'll visit again soon. Great. I mean, I love her, but the woman drives me mad sometimes, and with this situation with Tony, she's worse than ever. He gives me a sympathetic look and I wonder if she gets on his nerves, too.

After she goes, the four of us play with Mr. Potato Head in Sam's room. Jonathan keeps wanting to put the eyes etc. in his mouth.

"He has lips in his mouth!" Sam says, pointing and giggling.

"Hey, Buddy, look, it's Freddy Fuzzy Face!" Tony makes a giant teddy bear, about the size of Samantha, dance.

Jonathan spits out the lips, grabs the bear, and hugs it. "Fuzzy Faith!"  
"Daddy, that's my Freddy Fuzzy Face!"

"You can share, can't you? Like a big girl."  
"I guess," she grumbles.

"Samantha, would you like to use my blow-dryer tomorrow morning?" I know I'm taking a risk. She may say, "Blow-dryers are sissy!"

But her brown eyes widen. (Not like Tony's, more like the eyes in the pictures of Marie I saw around their apartment). "Can I?"

"Yes, I'll show you how."

"Wow, just like the beauty parlor when I go with Mrs. Rossini!"

I manage not to laugh.

"I still get to sleep with Freddy Fuzzy Face though, huh, Daddy?"  
"Of course. Jonathan's got his own toys to sleep with."

We put the kids to bed early. We're all tired. And Samantha has school tomorrow.

"Do I have to go?" she asks as Tony tucks her in.

"Sam, you promised."

"I can go with you, Swee—Sam, if you want me to. To show you and your daddy where it is."

"OK. Goodnight, Mrs. Bower."

"Goodnight, Sam."  
"Goodnight, Honey." Tony gives her a big hug and kiss goodnight.

"Mrs. Bower, are there any ghosts in your house?"

 _Just a documentary film-maker and I will banish him as soon as I can._ "No, it's not old enough."

"It looks like a house in an old, old movie, the kind Daddy likes." She yawns.

"Yeah, but no one's died here, Sweetie. Have they, Angie?"

"Not that I know of."

"We don't get ghosts in Brooklyn, even when people get stabbed."

I gasp. Sam doesn't seem to realize the horror of what she's said. She curls up like an innocent little girl, which she is, underneath the toughness.

"It doesn't happen very often," Tony whispers to me.

We tiptoe out. I want to look in on Jonathan again. Tony follows. My baby is sleeping. I turn and Tony smiles at me.

"Let's go downstairs," he whispers.

I nod and let him take my hand even before we leave the upstairs hallway.

We go down to the couch and sit but don't yet snuggle. I suddenly feel shy with him. I don't know if it's that we're officially living together, or if it's having the kids as part of it, or what. But it's hard to recapture how it felt in Vegas and California.

He swallows. "I feel nervous, too."  
I smile a little. "This is real, Tony."  
"Yeah. But it's also real nice."

"I know." And then I put my head on his shoulder and he puts his arm around me, still holding my other hand.

"Not to pressure you—" he begins, and I wonder if he's going to say he can't wait six weeks. I don't know if I can either. Then he continues, "But this feels really comfortable, natural. Despite the nervousness. I mean, I think I'm nervous because it feels so comfortable. If that makes sense."

I nod, thinking of how that makes my ear feel against his muscular shoulder. "One of my friends thinks I'm crazy but I could see it working."  
"All of my friends think I'm crazy, but that's because I didn't tell them the whole story."

"The whole story is even crazier."

"Trust me, moving to Connecticut to keep house for a woman I met a week and a half ago is crazy enough."

I laugh softly. "Yes."

"So you told a friend about us?"

"Yes, but I've sworn her to secrecy. She can't even tell our other best friend, Wendy."

I feel him shift away a little. "Wendy Wittener?"

"Yes, have you met her?" Oh God, I can see her coming over to borrow a cup of sugar just to meet Tony!

"Yeah, in the park. She said her daughter is friends with Jonathan."

"Yes, they're friends."

"And you're friends with Wendy?"

"Tony, what's wrong?"

"Um, Sam thinks Wendy has, well, a crush on me."

I laugh. So Isabel was right.

"It could happen!" he says indignantly.

"I know it could. But Wendy, although she is very prone to crushes on handsome men, is 100% faithful to her boring and balding, but kind and rich dentist husband, Herb. The worse she'll do is ogle you."

"Oh." He sounds relieved.

"The one you really have to worry about is Diane Wilmington."

"Oh? What's she like?"

I'm tempted to lie, but he'd find out soon enough. "Um, she's a very flirty, buxom redhead."

"No problem, I'll just tell her I'm married."

"Yes, that worked so well with Betty."

And then to my surprise, he moves closer again, gently takes my face in his hands, and whispers, "The only woman I have a crush on and the only woman I want to have a crush on me is sitting right here." And then he kisses me softly but lingeringly.

I want to tell him I've missed him, but that's silly of course. I haven't exactly gone weeks without seeing him.

And then I remember I let Michael kiss me and I could've gone to bed with Michael if Brian hadn't come by. I feel unfaithful to Tony. I should tell him but it would mean stopping this lovely kiss.

Then he stops and says, "Listen, Angie—"

But I don't find out what he's going to say because the phone rings just then.


	22. Day Zero

I'm about to tell her about Theresa kissing me, and then the phone rings.

"I'm very sorry, Tony. Do you mind if I answer that?"  
"Angela, we live together. It's not like this is a date that's going to end in a couple hours."

"Right." She kisses my cheek and then goes and answers the phone. "Hello? Oh, hi, Brian."

I try not to roll my eyes. I'm still not completely convinced he's over her, although Mona claims I have nothing to worry about.

"I'm fine. You? Oh, good. Oh, I see. Well, I appreciate it. Take care. Yes, I will." She hangs up. "He says hi."

"How did he know I'm here?"

"He didn't. He just meant to say hi when I see you."

"Oh, well, that's nice of him."

"Most of my husbands are nice."

"Yeah. Did he say anything about no longer being your husband?"

"Yes, he was calling from Reno. He's settling in and he would've done the paperwork today, but it's Columbus Day."

I laugh. "So much for my Italian pride, I totally forgot." I think about saying something about exploring a whole new world, but I can't think of how to say it without sounding too corny.

"Apparently. Since you would've realized that the schools are closed today, and Sam wouldn't have gone anyway."

I smile. "Joke's on her. And me."

"Yes. I will go with you two tomorrow. I can catch a later train."

"Sounds good. Now where were we?" I'll tell her about Theresa later. It's not that important.

She comes back to the couch but she says, "Tony, I have to tell you something."

Oh, shit, maybe she's having doubts about all this. But then why is she going to help me get Sam enrolled at Fairfield Elementary? "Yeah?" I choke out.

"Um, I don't know how to say this, but I."  
"You what?"

"I kissed Michael!"

I laugh in relief.

She frowns. "I'm glad it amuses you."

"No, Baby, it's just, well, I kissed someone, too."

Her eyes narrow. "Oh?"  
"Well, she kissed me."  
"Someone other than Betty?"

"Yeah, one of my old girlfriends, Theresa. But it was a goodbye kiss. And I didn't kiss back."

"Oh." She looks torn between guilt and jealousy.

"Angie, it's no big deal. Michael was your husband. I mean in the buying-a-house-and-having-a-kid sense, not like Brian. So if you kissed him goodbye, well, that's OK."

"It wasn't just goodbye," she whispers.

I stare at her. "What?"

She swallows. "It was the kind of kiss that feels like it's going to lead to more."

"Did it?" I ask hoarsely.

She shakes her head. "No, Brian showed up."  
"Oh? Did you kiss him, too?"

"No. We don't have a history together. I mean not like Michael and I."

"History, huh? What about the present?"

"I came to my senses. And Michael was obnoxious when Brian was here. If not for you, then, yes, I think I might've gone to bed with Michael. But I would've regretted it."

"I don't know what to say."  
"I understand. If that changes how you feel about me, about us, I have to accept that. I do feel like I sort of cheated on you."

"Yeah." It sort of feels that way to me.

"So it's over?" Her deep brown eyes are filling up with tears.

I grab her and hold her close. "No, no, Baby, God, no! I'm no saint myself. And, hell, you let Betty slobber all over me, and you were classy about it."

She laughs in that crying-laughing way some women have, where you're not sure which direction it's gonna go, and they probably aren't either. "I suppose I could've made a scene about it. Both times."  
"But you didn't. And when did this happen? Kissing Michael I mean."  
"The evening of the day you all showed up."  
"Angela, we hadn't even really talked about us yet. I mean, that's before I even applied for the job of housekeeper."

This time it's definitely a laugh. "Right."

I pull away and look into her eyes. "We're starting fresh. Clean slates for both, OK?"

She nods. "OK."

"But, you know, just to be clear, maybe you should show me how you two kissed."

"If I kiss you like that, it will lead to more."

"Not with the kids sleeping upstairs."

She looks down at the couch, which I now notice is very long. It's also firm but soft, like her tits and her ass. (God, I can't believe I just thought that!)

"OK, I'll show you how Theresa kissed me instead."

She nods as if this is a good compromise. I have us stand up and I give her a big kiss.

"Angie, you're not supposed to kiss back!"

"Oh, sorry. Let's try again."

A half dozen times, and she can't just stand there and be kissed. And the couch looks very inviting. How am I going to get through six weeks of this?

After the sixth time, she says, "I'll be right back." Then she heads to where her den is. She works from home. I remind myself I've got a career woman for a wife. How is that going to work? Yes, she made time for me and the kids tonight, but how long before she's back to taking work home every night? She told me on the road trip that she did that with Michael gone so much, and with her trying to move up the ladder.

She brings back a wall calendar and a pen. She sits on the couch and I sit next to her again.

"OK, tomorrow is Tuesday, October 10th."

"Uh, yeah." Does this have to do with Sam and school?

"Six weeks from then is, let's see, November 21st."  
"Oh, right. So we could, um, yeah."  
"Yes. We don't have to. We could wait till we have our wedding."  
"Wedding?!"

"Shh, the children will hear you. Yes, if we decide to stay in this marriage, we are going to have to have a, well, a show wedding. For Sam and my neighbors and Mrs. Rossini and whoever else will want proof that we're married but won't be able to handle the Vegas wedding."

"Oh, right. Do you want a big wedding? I eloped with Marie."

"No, I already had a big wedding. I mean to Michael. And big weddings take time to plan, a lot longer than six weeks, and that's assuming that we could call caterers and everything at a point when you're pretending to be just my housekeeper."

"Right." I'm no moron, but sometimes I have trouble keeping up with her quick, intricate thinking.

"Something more than I had in Vegas both times, but just a few guests. And Sam as a flower girl."

I laugh. "My Samantha? In ruffles and lace?"

"She can wear overalls. It doesn't matter. What matters is that if we stay married, we 'get married.' "

"Right. Can we have a Catholic wedding?"

"Do I have to convert?"

"Only if you want to."  
"Thank you. But I'll probably have had too many divorces by then."  
"Good point. Uh, do you want to put the wedding on there?" I point at "November."

"Not yet. Let's see how the next couple weeks go."  
"Fair enough."

"And I think this is enough 'alone time' for tonight."

I swallow and nod. We shouldn't push it. "Yeah."

"Goodnight, Tony." She gives me a sweet little kiss and then heads upstairs, with the calendar.

I sit here awhile longer, thinking about this very long day. This is not going to be easy, in a lot of ways. But at least now we've got a timeframe.

When I go up to my new room and my old bed, I try not to think of her in her bed, the bed I made this afternoon, when I had a quiet moment. I'm glad I'm not going to be looking after both kids every morning. It's really draining. I think I can manage if I've just got Jonathan before I pick up Sam at noon. Or do kids walk home from school in this neighborhood? It's certainly safe enough, but maybe parents drive them everywhere.

As I get out my pajamas, I wonder what Angela's wearing. Maybe those cute pink pajamas she wore in Monterey. I try not to think of her sleeping in just my jersey the first night.

Six weeks. What am I going to be doing for six weeks, besides housework and cold-showering? Well, I guess figuring out how I feel about Angela, whether I really can love her enough to be married, whether she can love me. Also, settling into the neighborhood, trying not to feel too much like a fish out of water. Helping Sam settle in.

Oh, yeah, and maybe helping Angela plan a nice simple wedding. I know it's usually the woman who does that, but I almost feel like I'm the woman in the relationship. You know, as her housekeeper. I remind myself that that part's temporary. We can get a real housekeeper after we get married, if we do. Well, maybe I can manage it for a few more months, but she's going to need someone when I'm on the road.

I smile thinking of coming home to this great house, with the two great kids, and the great woman. The great woman with the great little tits and ass.

I sigh. I'd better get started on the cold-showering.


	23. Presidents and Vice

"Why, Angela, what are you doing here? I know Jonathan's a bright little boy but I think two is a little young for kindergarten." Joanne's fake laugh is like fingernails on chalkboard. Not that it sounds unpleasant. It's carefully cultivated to sound pleasant.

"Yes, it is but I'm not here for my own child." I hate to do this but it's unavoidable, and we may as well get it over with. I wave Tony and Sam over. "This is Tony Micelli and his daughter Samantha."

"Pleased to meet ya," Sam says presenting a hand that I know Tony made sure was thoroughly washed before we left the house.

Joanne shakes it, but then she is sort of a politician. "How cute." Then she looks up at Tony. "Very cute. You have a very cute daughter."

"Thanks." He shakes her hand. "Good to meet you, Mrs. Um?"

"This is Joanne Parker. One of our neighbors. And President of the Parents' Association."

"Yeah? I'm thinking of joining. When are the meetings?"

"The third Thursday of the month. So how do you know Angela?"

"Well, I'm her huh—um, handyman."  
"Really? Well, I'm sure you're very handy."

Ugh. I'd expect this kind of behavior from Diane Wilmington, but from Joanne Parker? "Actually, he's more of a housekeeper."

"A male housekeeper? Well, Angela, how very 'liberated' of you!"

"Thank you."

"Daddy, can I go see my classroom now?"

"Of course, Sweetheart. Nice meeting you, Mrs. Parker. See you in a bit, Angela."

"Bye, Tony. Good luck, Sam." I'd like to go with them, to help Sam settle in and to get away from Joanne, but it's not really my place.

"Well, well, your 'housekeeper,' Angela?"

"He's very good at cooking!" I say defensively.  
"Mm hm."

I struggle not to blush. "And cleaning and so on."  
"And so on. Is he a live-in?"

I'm tempted to lie. I'm even tempted to pretend that Marie is still alive. But I know I couldn't get away with it. "Yes, he and Samantha have moved in."

"You're living with a strange man only a couple weeks after your divorce?"

"It's not like that!" I try to keep my voice down, since we are in the hallway of Fairfield Elementary.

"So what is it like?"

"Tony and I are not fooling around!" Well, we're not. I don't count the kisses last night, or what happened in Vegas and Monterey.

"Really? Two healthy, attractive single adults? He is single, isn't he?"

"Yes, he's recently widowed. And in mourning for his wife." Not a lie.

"Oh, how sad! I bet he needs consolation."

I'm not sure if she means from me or from herself. She is married, to an insurance salesman, but Mother has told me rumors about her. Nothing provable. On the surface, she's very clean-living. It's unusual to see her borderline flirt like she did, a testimony to Tony's attractiveness.

"He needs a fresh start. That's why he's moved to Fairfield." Again, not entirely a lie.

"Well, I'm sure you'll make him feel right at home."

I can hold my own against men in the business world, but I've never been very good at this kind of sneaky fighting with words that some women do. Mother is a pro at it and I suddenly wish she was here instead of home with Jonathan.

I'm still trying to decide how to reply when Tony comes back and says, "OK, Angie, I met her teacher and Sam's happy finger-painting, so let's get you to the station so you can meet the next train.

"Angie?" Joanne repeats with a smirk.

I never did explain to Tony that no one around here calls me Angie. I like the way he says it, so warm and Brooklyny.

"Mrs. Parker, again good to meet you. Your son Dwight is cute, too. Too bad about his overbite." And Joanne's mouth falls open but no words come out, as Tony escorts me out the front door.

I hold my laughter till we get in my Jaguar. (I'm letting him drive it during the day while I'm in the city. It runs much better than his van and of course looks much better.)

"What?"

"Insinuating that anything or anyone associated with Joanne Parker is less than perfect could shatter her world."

"Her world probably needs shattering."

I think about telling him about her insinuations but I don't want to get into it right now. Besides, I think Tony has proven he can handle Joanne just fine.

I feel a little shy about him kissing me goodbye at the station.

He frowns. "Oh, right, I'm your housekeeper now."  
"I'm sorry, Tony. We should probably be careful in public, at least until we're 'engaged.' "

"Yeah, I guess."

"I'll kiss you tonight enough to make it up to you. I mean after the kids are asleep."

He smiles. "I look forward to it."

I think about what it would be like to kiss him every night. And maybe in six weeks more than kiss. "Me, too," I say softly.

This isn't going to be easy, in so many ways. But at least now we have a timeframe. And this morning I Xed out the first day of the six weeks.

The commute is uneventful and I use it to work on the account that I normally would've worked on in my Manhattan office. I'll be only an hour late, which isn't bad, although I don't want to make a habit of this. I told them at work that I had an unavoidable appointment in Fairfield. I'm high enough up, and yet low enough down, that I can do this. Yes, the blessings of middle management.

And yet, I don't want to stay at this level indefinitely. I still want to be a vice-president before I'm 35. My marital situation hasn't changed that ambition.

It does cross my mind to wonder, would Tony support that ambition more than Michael would? He does like my intelligence and creativity and I think also my drive, but he's also a traditional Italian man in some ways. Yes, he's my housekeeper for the moment, but if he were truly my husband, would he object to the sacrifices that I, and we, would have to make to get closer to the top?

And would I be able to make those sacrifices? It was easy to work long hours, even weekends, when my husband was hardly ever home and we fought when he was. The office was a refuge then. But now that I'll be coming home to Tony?

I'm musing on all this, but trying to focus on the Easy Cheesy account, when the phone rings. An internal call.

"Angela Bower. How can I help you today?"

"You can bring your smile into my office and brighten up my gray day."

Oh, damn, Grant's back from vacation! Um, I didn't tell you about Grant, did I? I guess, Gentle Reader, now is as good a time as any.

Grant is President of Wallace and McQuade. He is about five years older than I am but beginning to go prematurely gray. It suits him, lending a maturity to his appearance that he needs for a position that some think he's too young to hold. He is handsome and always impeccably dressed, as if the clothes grew on him.

And for the past year we have had a very mild flirtation. OK, he did say, "When you come back a free woman, I'll have to take you out to dinner." And I was considering pursuing the relationship, I mean before I met and married Tony. But I did have reservations, because he's my boss's boss. If we got involved and Jim Peterson among others found out, it would ruin my career. No one would blame Grant. He's a man and the president.

Now that Tony is in the picture, and particularly after our discussion last night, where he was so understanding about Michael, I obviously am not going to do anything with Grant. The problem is, I'm not sure how I can tell Grant that. I can't tell him about the bigamy! That would probably make me seem like a floozy. And I can't tell him I'm engaged to Tony, or even dating him, because technically I'm not.

"It is a little cloudy today, isn't it?" I say.

"Cloudy? It's pouring down!"  
"Oh. Not all of us have offices with windows."

"Well, we'll have to see what we can do about that."

Before Tony, I could've bantered about this, while still keeping it light enough that it would not seem like a promotion would be quid pro quo. Now all I can manage is "Well, no skylight please. I'd get a view of the cafeteria's kitchen."

He laughs. "Come upstairs, Angela. Please."

"Yes, Grant," I say quietly. I go, but I take the Easy Cheesy portfolio with me.

In his office, I say, "I was thinking maybe we could get permission to use 'Please Please Me.' "

"What's that, a porno movie?"

I blush. "No, you know, the Beatles song. 'Please please me, oh yeah, like I please you.' " I blush more, having sung to him, and such lyrics!

"Oh, right. I haven't thought of that song in years."

"See, we could make a jingle to that tune, 'Please cheese me.' Or maybe we could—"

"Do you know what would please me, Angela?"

"What, Grant?" Oh, no, here it comes!

"If you would go out to dinner with me, like you promised."

"Um, could we take a rain check?"

He glances out the window at the buckets pouring down.

"I mean, well, I just got divorced."

"I know. That's why I'm asking now, rather than two months ago."

"Grant, I'm very flattered, but I want some time to sort things out." Not a lie.

"Oh, I see."

I wait for him to send me out, maybe even take me off the Easy Cheesy account. (Why did I sing? I should never sing to anyone but Jonathan!)

"You're feeling pressured. I'm sorry."

I look at him. I wasn't expecting such sensitivity. "Thank you."

"And I'm sure it doesn't help any that I'm Claude's boss."

"Well, no." Claude is elderly and unimaginative but he is very easy to work for. He loves everything I do, and I make him look good.

"Perhaps it'll be easier once Claude retires."

"Claude is retiring?" He's been with the agency forever, since it was just Wallace and Associates. Everyone assumed he'd never retire and just keel over at his desk one day, maybe when he's 100.

"Yes. Which means we'll have an opening for vice-president soon."

"Oh, yes." I try to remain calm and cool.

"There are some interesting internal candidates. Like Jim Peterson."  
That snake! I'm sure he'd love to be my boss and tell me what to do, while taking all the credit. "Jim is very devoted to the company."

"Yes, he is. But then so are you."

"Me?"

"Yes. Angela, you're a little young to be vice-president, but then so was I. And you're very bright, very talented. And not a bad little singer either."  
I blush again. And then I have to ask, "Would my promotion be contingent on anything?"

"Angela, let me assure you that my interest in your progress in this company is very different than my personal interest. However."

Oh, why is there a however?

"You could do something for me."  
"For you?"

"Well, for the company really. My cook had a skiing accident and she's out of commission. One of the reasons why I hoped you'd accept my dinner invitation is that I've had to eat out a lot, and I would enjoy your company."

"I'm sorry. I mean about your cook."

"Thank you. You have a maid, don't you?"

"Uh, I have a housekeeper."

"Is she a good cook?"

"Um, my housekeeper is the best cook I've ever had." I really hope he's not inviting himself over for a romantic dinner. I think Tony would understandably draw the line at that, despite his breakfast for my other husbands last week.

"Great! Do you think she would be able to do a cocktail party a week from Friday?"

"A cocktail party?"

"Yes, I've got some important clients coming in from out of town, but I don't want to do a dinner party, or take them to a restaurant. I'm thinking hors d'oeuvres and drinks, nothing too elaborate. You can hire a bartender. I'll reimburse you for everything of course."

"Thank you, but I'll need to consult—I mean, my housekeeper just started yesterday and is settling in."

"Well, it's a week and a half away. And if she's anything like her boss, I'm sure she can adapt quickly."  
I smile feebly. "I'd still like to discuss it first."

"OK. I'll give you the details later, the guest list and so on."

"Thank you."

"Well, I think that'll be all for now. Thank you, Angela. Oh, and don't forget the Easy Cheesy portfolio."

"Yes, of course. And thank you, Grant, for this opportunity."

I glance out his largest window and wonder if it opens in or out. With any luck, I could drown before I hit the ground.


	24. Cookies, Crayons, and Cocktails

"What do you expect? She's a bitch."

"Then why do you work for her, Pearl?"

"They're all bitches. At least Mrs. Parker's bitchiness is obvious."

"Mrs. Bower is OK," I say, trying to be a loyal housekeeper but not give anything away.

All three women laugh.

"Yeah," says Nell, who works for the Schaeffers, "see how you feel about her after you've been working here longer."

"She does seem nice," Phoebe says. She works for the Wilmingtons.

I give her an extra cookie for that comment.

I hadn't really thought about how the other housekeepers in the neighborhood would react to me. I guess that was sort of snobbish of me, but it's not like I ever met many servants in Brooklyn. The only servants I saw were on TV and I can't remember them having friends and peers. Maybe Alice on _The Brady Bunch._

But Nell saw me at the market yesterday and introduced herself. And here I am, at my first coffee klatch!

I haven't told them that I'm really Angela's husband and that I have a real job most of the year. Apparently, none of them follow baseball. They're more into the game shows and the soaps. Phoebe now recounts what's going on with somebody named Karen Wolek on _One Life to Live._

"Tony, you don't know about the hooker housewife?" Pearl asks.

"To be honest, I haven't had time to watch much TV yet. With two kids and all the housework, I'm running a little ragged so far."

Phoebe says, "I thought Mrs. Bower had only a little boy."  
"Well, there's my daughter Samantha, too. She's in kindergarten."  
They aww about that, especially when I tell them about Marie. I'm not looking for sympathy or anything, but I have to be honest about that side of my life.

Nell says, "So that's how you ended up as a housekeeper?"

"Well, yeah, I've, uh, I've had other jobs. But this lets me see my little girl."  
They aww again.

"And it's a great house of course."

They agree.

Then Nell asks, "So is she keeping it? Now she's divorced?"

"Uh, I think she's gonna buy Mi—her husband out. He was never home anyway. Uh, from what she told me."

Phoebe nods. "Poor Mrs. Bower. I think she was lonely."  
"Well, she won't be too lonely with a hunk like Tony around," Pearl says mischievously.

"Ay-oh, oh-ay, you sound like Mrs. Parker. Nothing is goin' on with me and An—and Mrs. Bower!" Well, there isn't. Just some smooching.

"I just meant you're easy to talk to."  
"Uh huh. Listen, I'm sorry to kick you all out, but I've got to go pick up my daughter from school." Sam might walk home once she's settled in, but I promised to pick her up for her first day.

They thank me for the cookies and clear out. I like that they seem to accept me as one of them, but I'm going to have to be careful around them, not say too much. I have to remember that no one is supposed to know I'm involved with Angela. After Brian's divorce is final, well, then people can make their little remarks about Angela dating the help, but we have got to keep our cover story for now.

The most awkward part was actually when "the girls" asked me how much I make. It wasn't when they teased that maybe I'm not being paid in money. It was when I almost gave away that I don't know my salary. Yes, I could just ask Angela, but I figure I'll get paid at the end of the month and I'll find out then. And it's not like I'm living on it. For the moment, my daughter and I have free room and board, and that's more than we had in Brooklyn.

But this job is taking a lot out of me. Yes, this morning was easier without Sam around, but now I've got to pick her up and she'll demand my attention. And part of me wants to give her all she asks, because I am lucky to spend time with her. But I've got all the other things I've got to take care of.

I go get Jonathan and get him ready for the car trip. He's happy to hear that we're getting Sam. I don't think he understands about school, although Sam tried to explain it at breakfast.

She's full of stories after school, including about what a little pain Dwight Parker is. I stop myself from saying, "Well, like mother, like son."

"Sam, I want you to try to get along with everyone here. They're not like people in Brooklyn."

"No kiddin'," she says, and I can't help laughing because she sounds like a soprano version of me.

In order to get housework done in the afternoon, I give Sam and Jonathan a box of crayons and a bunch of paper. This works OK, until Jonathan starts eating the crayons!

"I told him they taste like candy." Sam giggles.  
"Samantha!"

"He believes everything I say. You can tell he doesn't live in New York."

"Sam, he's two years old. And he trusts you. You have to be worthy of that trust."

"I was just trying to be funny," she pouts.

I can't find anything in the house to induce vomiting in a toddler. I take him into the downstairs bathroom and put my pinky finger down his throat.

"Wow, that looks so cool, Dad! Like a rainbow volcano!"

"Sam, go to your room!"

"I hate you! You used to be fun!"

Yeah, sure, I was fun. I was only around for the fun parts of fatherhood. Poor Marie. Now I'm sort of glad we never had a second kid.

Sam does go up to her room, and I do my best to clean up Jonathan and the bathroom.

"Cwayons yicky," he observes and then burps.

"Yeah, they are."

I take him up to his room and stay with him till he falls asleep. I think he'll be OK. But maybe I'm supposed to call a doctor. I need to find out who the pediatrician is and all the emergency numbers, just in case.

Then I go check on Sam, who's sulking.

"You love Jonathan more than me."  
"Sweetheart, I could never love anybody more than you!"

"What about Mommy?"

"I loved you both the same. Well, not the same but equally."

"What's ekally?"

"It means just as good."

"Oh. Like pizza is just as good as spaghetti but they're not the same?"

"Uh, right."

"Daddy, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make Jonathan sick."

"I know, Honey. You just have to remember he's too little to know anything. You have to help me teach him. But nice things."

"Like a big sister?"

"Yeah, kind of." I wait for her to ask me about this living situation.

But instead she says, "How long do I have to stay up here?"

"Another hour. You're still being punished."

"But I said sorry."

"I know. That's why it's only an hour."

"OK. Can I play with my toys?"

"Of course."

As I head downstairs, it occurs to me that Sam's room, a converted sewing room or not, isn't much smaller than the apartment I grew up in. Some punishment.

But the hour of relative quiet is just what I need to get things done. Well, as much as I can get done in an hour without leaving the house.

Towards the end, the phone rings.

"Tony?"

I smile. "Hey, Angie, how's it going?" It's good to hear her voice. I didn't expect her to call from work.

"Good, good. But I have a favor to ask."

"Hey, your wish is my command."

"Thank you. Um, do you feel up to a cocktail party?"

Wow, I was not expecting that! Maybe she wants to go public after all. I'll have to find a suit I could wear, and we'll have to figure out how to explain the date to Sam, but I'm up for it if Angela is. "Yeah, sounds fun!"  
"Oh, Tony, you're so sweet."

"A mere bag o' shells," I say, snapping my fingers.

"What?"

I can't really explain over the phone. "Never mind. When is it?" I hope it's not tonight. I need time to get the suit.

"A week from Friday."

"Oh, that's plenty of time to prepare."

"Well, I feel funny springing this on you when you've just started working, but we'll try to keep it simple and—"

"Wait, you mean a cocktail party here?"

"Oh, did you think I meant—Oh." I can picture her blushing.

"No, yeah, of course. One here."

"I wouldn't ask, but it's for work."

"Yeah, I'll help any way I can."

"Oh, Tony, you're a doll!"

"Well, that's why you pay me the big bucks."

"Oh, that's another thing—Oh, sorry, gotta go! See you tonight." She hangs up suddenly.

"Yeah, see you, Mrs. Bower," I say quietly as I put back the receiver, then I return to unloading the dishwasher.


	25. Sunday Brunch

"Diet Tab, thank you."

Wendy rolls her eyes. We both put on weight with pregnancy but I've lost more than she has in the couple years since. And she thinks I can carry extra weight better than her because I'm taller. But I remember my fat adolescence. And I'm having a very hard time not eating too much of Tony's home-cooking, especially the pasta of course. As for Isabel, she's been skinny most of her life. We still love her though.

"Yes, Ma'am. Please let me know when you're ready to order."

"Of course."

"So," Wendy whispers as soon as the waiter walks away, and she doesn't even pause to check out his buns, "what is the story with you and Tony?"

Isabel suddenly becomes very interested in her textbook.

"Uh, what have you heard?" I at least need to know what I can safely contradict.

"Everything!"

"Everything?"

"Yes, all kinds of stories, some of them contradictory. But he is living in your house with his little girl, right?"

"Yes." No point in contradicting that.

"And he's working as your housekeeper?"

"Yes, I fired Mrs. Smathers after I got back from Reno."

"Finally," Isabel murmurs. Her Nell is a gem, no trouble at all, even with the extra work now that Isabel has gone back to school.

"But how did you end up hiring a male housekeeper? A hunky male housekeeper?"

"Well, it was my mother's idea." Technically true.

"Yeah? I wish my mother would make suggestions like that."

"Anyway, yes, there's an attraction between us, but I am very recently divorced—"

Isabel chokes on a croissant and I glare at her. "Excuse me," she mumbles.

"And he's recently widowed. Not to mention that our children are small and we don't want to cause any more upheaval in their lives."

"Yeah, but what about—?"

"Hello, we're ready to order," Isabel tells the waiter.

She selects sausages and eggs, even though Wendy teases that that's not a very healthy order for a future doctor. Wendy gets the diet plate (cottage cheese and fruit), and, after hesitation, I choose yogurt and bacon.

Wendy waits till the waiter leaves before she says, "That's all you're having?"

I blush a little. "Tony fed me before I left."  
"Angela! You know that our monthly Sunday brunch is sacred! And we weren't able to have it while you were in Reno."  
"I'm sorry."

Wendy shakes her head. "Boy, you really have changed, Angie." I wince and she laughs. "So Joanne was right!"

"About that part, yes."

"So," Wendy's voice drops to a whisper, "nothing is going on in that house?"

I blush again. "Well, we kiss and cuddle, but that's all. His daughter doesn't know about us."

"And Jonathan?"  
"He's two."  
"So? Jenny is two and she already wants to know where babies come from."

"What did you tell her?"

"From Bloomingdale's."

I laugh and shake my head.

Isabel, who has her head buried in the book again, says, "That's going to give her a very weird complex later."

"Thank you, Dr. Freud. I don't know why I bother anymore, between Isabel's mind off at NYU and Angie's mind on her Brooklyn hunk—"

"My mind is not on Tony."

"Uh huh."  
"I have a child and a career and they are both very important to me, so please don't treat me like some teenager in puppy love."

Wendy sighs. "Yeah, I know. I want you to be all distracted by your hormones, but you're the same sensible Angela Bower as ever." Now I feel bad for disappointing her. "So what does Michael think of your new housekeeper?"

"Um, I don't think he knows." After all, I doubt the gossip has left Fairfield yet, and I certainly haven't told him.

"He doesn't know? But didn't he come home the first day Tony showed up? And what about that other man, the one with the mustache?"

I feel like I've had the wind knocked out of me. How has Wendy sat on all this gossip for almost two weeks and not said a word?

"That was Brian Thomas the poet," Isabel says, turning a page.

"Why was a poet visiting you?"

"The Easy Cheesy campaign," I say spontaneously, making Isabel look up.

"The Easy what?" Wendy says.

"I want to adapt one of his poems for the magazine ads."

"Oh."

"And that's how I met Tony."  
"Uh, is he Mr. Thomas's literary agent?"

"No, no, he's a baseball player, for the Cardinals."  
"Ohhh! Yeah, I think I've heard of him. But what does that have to do with poetry?"

"Yes, I don't see the connection," Isabel says, a little mischievously.

"Well, we were looking for a spokesman, preferably an athlete."  
"Like Joe Namath and pantyhose?" Isabel says.

"God, I hate that Broadway Joe has better legs than I do!" Wendy says.

"Both men happened to show up the same morning."

"But why at your house? Why not at the agency?"

"Um, it's a secret campaign. I mean this phase of it. I don't want Jim Peterson and his department to find out before I'm ready." At least I don't have to explain Jim Peterson to my friends.

"Wow, what rotten luck that it was the same morning Michael returned."  
"Yes, Isabel, it was. Anyway, Tony isn't going to do the ad but he does cook with Easy Cheesy and he and Mother got to talking, and, well, to make a long story short, he's my new housekeeper."

"Oh," Wendy says and even Isabel looks a little stunned by my web of lies.

Luckily, the food shows up then, and I'm able to swear them to secrecy about all this.

We spend the rest of the meal mostly talking about our children. We'll try to arrange a play date for Jennifer, Jonathan, and David sometime soon.

"How about Tony's daughter, Sandra?" Wendy asks.

"Samantha."  
"Right, right. How is she doing? Is she making any friends yet?"

"Well, it's only been a week. But she did go over to play dolls with Marci Ferguson on Friday."

I was surprised when Tony told me. It seemed such a, well, girly activity for Sam. But yesterday Tony was showing her how to play basketball, so she hasn't changed entirely. I let him install a hoop in the backyard, but he actually did two, the lower one at a height that's less intimidating for a kindergartner. They encouraged me to play with them, but I probably couldn't even make baskets in the kiddie hoop. It did look like fun though.

He's a good father, caring and patient. It reminds me of when Daddy would give me old blank tax forms to doodle on.

"Is it true she threatened to give Dwight Parker a knuckle sandwich?"

"I'd like to give his mother a knuckle sandwich," Isabel mutters, her nose again in the textbook, although she's now shoveling eggs and sausage in her mouth.

"She's promised her father she won't get in any fights." Which is not to say she might not have threatened little Dwight. I get the feeling that Tony isn't telling me every moment with the kids, as if he doesn't want me to think he can't handle things. He did confess about the crayon-eating incident, but I had specifically bought non-toxic crayons just in case. And Jonathan has been fine the rest of the week. I think Tony handled it well, certainly as well as I would've.

"Uh huh."

"Are the kids getting along OK?" Isabel asks.

"Well, there's a little, I guess you could call it sibling rivalry on Sam's part, but, yes, they seem to get along, despite the age difference."

"You better make sure that you and Tony don't wait too many years to have a kid."  
"Wendy!"

She chuckles and steals some of my bacon.

Isabel waits till Wendy has given us goodbye hugs and final teases, and then driven off, before she asks, "So how is it going, really?"

"It's been an adjustment but I'm happier than I'm been in years."

"Good. And you haven't signed anything away, have you?"

"Isabel!"

"Just checking."

"Oh, and Brian has filed, and I got a notice in the mail that my divorce from Michael is indeed final. So whatever happens with Tony, my marital status is becoming simplified."

"Good. And see that he doesn't end up in your bedroom before the six weeks are up."

"Isabel!"

She laughs and then hugs me goodbye. She gets in her car and drives off. And then I go to my Jaguar. Tony has been mostly just using it to take me to and from the station, after he realized that using it for errands when the kids are along means extra trips to the car wash. He's not as concerned about his van, which is obviously "lived-in" looking.

I didn't tell the girls about Grant or the cocktail party. I still feel funny about all that. I didn't tell Tony that Grant once had the potential to become something other than my boss's boss. I figure if need be, if Grant tries again in another few weeks, I can tell him that I have a boyfriend, and hope that he won't see it as hypocritical that I implied I wasn't ready to date again.

Not that Tony and I are dating. We have a little "us" time each night after putting the kids to bed, but we're usually so drained that snuggling on the couch is as much as we can manage. If there's an old movie on TV, we might watch that.

It's really nice though, cozy in a way it rarely was with Michael. And when we play with and care for the children together, it does feel like a family. I never expected this, especially not when I woke up with a handsome naked stranger sixteen long days ago.


	26. Cocktail Party

"Well, don't you look adorable!"  
"Thanks," I mutter. I've got to admit I feel weird about this whole thing. Yes, I want to help Angela out, but I wish I could be co-hosting this cocktail party, not looking and acting like a caterer/bartender.

I'm wearing a black bow-tie, a white dress shirt, a plaid vest, black slacks, black socks, black shoes. And a little blue apron.

Mona is in a turquoise kind of flapper outfit, with a very long matching scarf.

"You look like Isadora Duncan."

"Thank you. If the party gets dull, I'll do an interpretive dance."

I shake my head. "Oh, yeah, Angela would love that."

"Who cares what Angela thinks as long as the men enjoy it?"

You know, my last mother-in-law was like Mrs. Rossini, a traditional Italian lady. She cooked, she nagged, she pinched cheeks. Well, Mona pinches cheeks, too, but not on the face, according to Bobby Governale.

Angela wanted Mona to babysit the kids, but she said there was no way she was missing "our first party." Never mind that it's Angela's party and I'm just the help. Anyway, Dr. and Mrs. Ferguson are looking after Sam and Jonathan tonight. Good thing Angela likes and trusts the Fergusons, because this is the first time anyone has sat for Jonathan outside his home, and she's nervous about it.

And she's of course nervous about the party. Out-of-town clients and all the company big-wigs are coming, even her boss's boss, the president of the company. (She did not appreciate my President Grant joke.)

"What about this outfit?" Angela asks, coming downstairs again, this time in a black silk dress with a very high neckline. I mean, it's practically a turtleneck. And the skirt is very long, with no glimpse of her long legs. She looks classy but too modest. You'd never guess what a dynamite body she has underneath. I feel lucky to know. Then I realize I need to stop thinking about her body, especially right before a work party.

"Dear, are you going to an Amish wedding?"

"Mother. What do you think, Tony?"

Is she asking me as her housekeeper or as her husband? Or as her boyfriend? Or just as a man?

"You look good. You always look good."

Mona shakes her head. "You're not going to let this one slip away, are you, Dear?"

"Shut up, Mother!" She goes over to look in the mirror by the front door and that's when I see that the dress is backless. I'm not exactly a back man (who is?), but, wow, that's a sexy back! Especially because I didn't expect to see it exposed.

"Would you like a shawl, Dear?" Mona teases.

Angela blushes. "Is it too daring?"

"It's perfect," I murmur.

Angela blushes more and Mona grins. Then the doorbell rings.

"Tony, can you get that while I go up and change?"

"You're not going anywhere, Young Lady."  
"Yes, Mother," Angela grumbles. She peeks out the window. "Ugh, it's that weasel, Jim Peterson!"

"Micelli, man the battle stations!"

"Yes, Ma'am," I say, saluting, and then I go stand behind the bar.

Mona lifts up a tray of hors d'oeuvres and puts on a welcoming smile. Angela shakes her head, takes a deep breath, and opens the door to Mr. Peterson.

"Why, Jim, I'm so glad you could make it."  
"Thanks, Angela. I hope I'm not too early."

"No, no, right on time."

"Oh, but it looks like I'm the only one here."  
"I'm sure the others are on their way."  
"Of course."

"Shrimp?" Mona asks. I can see she's struggling not to make that into an insult. Not that he's short, I mean in height. Hell, I've been spending too much time around her lately. I know how her mind works far too well.

"Why, thank you."  
"Jim, this is my mother, Mona Robinson. Mother, Jim Peterson."

I'm a little afraid of what they'll say to each other, because, insulting as Mona can be to Angela, she's like a mama bear with anyone who attacks her daughter. Luckily, more guests show up then and the moment passes.

I'm kept pretty busy, making drinks and helping Mona get more of the hors d'oeuvres. So it takes me awhile to notice that Angela's boss's boss, that Grant guy, is looking awfully friendly with Angela. No, he's not pinching any of her cheeks or doing anything I could punch him for. (Good thing, because he'd probably fire her and then she'd fire and dump me.) It's just something about the way he talks to and about her. The way he puts his hand on her arm.

I tell myself that I'm being needlessly jealous. It's not like she's responding to him. I mean, she's not pushing him away, but she's not encouraging him. And maybe this is how things are in the advertising world.

And then he puts his hand lightly on her back, her bare back. I want to leap over the bar and yank his arm off!

"Barkeep, I'd like a Gibson."

It's Peterson. "Yes, Sir." I have to think a moment what a Gibson is. I mean, I know it's a cocktail.

"Gin and vermouth," Peterson prompts me.

"Yeah, right, sorry, Sir. With or without a pickled onion?"  
"Well, I'm getting pickled, so why shouldn't the onion?"

I give him the expected chuckle.

"You're not really a bartender, are you?"

"Well, no, Sir. I'm, uh, Mrs. Bower's cook." I figure men can be cooks, right?

"Her cook, huh? It figures she'd have something cooking at home, as well as at the office."

"Just what are you implying? Sir."

"Well, you've got to admit that you don't look like the typical cook. And she is a young divorcée."  
"She's my boss and that's all."

"Hey, no offense. I'm sure Grant will be relieved."

"Grant?"

"Yes, you see the young man with the graying hair?"  
I've been doing my best not to look at that man. "Yeah, I see him."  
"Well, that's your boss's boss's boss. And your boss is his little 'protégée.' That's French for—" He winks!

"You know, maybe you've had too much to drink. Sir."  
He laughs, not a nice laugh. "Oh, come on, everyone knows that she's a two-bit tramp who's sleeping her way to the top. I know she's after Claude's position, and I'm sure she'll assume any position Grant wants."

I've been trying to control my temper but that's it. I lose it. I take two bottles and say, "Here's the gin. And here's the vermouth." I pour the bottles on his balding head. "And here's the pickled onion." I toss it into his mouth, which is wide with shock and outrage.

He's not the only one who looks like that. "Tony!" Angela gasps. "What are you doing?"

I don't know what to say or do. I've ruined her party and attacked her colleague. OK, I didn't hit the guy but I abused my bartender's privileges. And all because Jim Peterson fed into my fears and jealousies, as well as verbally attacked the woman I—I am very fond of and secretly married to.

He puts on a smarmy grin. "Angela, it's OK. Your hot-tempered 'cook' and I had a little disagreement about football."

"An—Mrs. Bower, that's not true!"

"Are you calling me a liar?"

Oh, shit, what do I do now? I can't exactly tell her what the "disagreement" was about, can I? Not in front of everyone, including Grant. And obviously I can't make Peterson admit it, because it would make him look bad, as well as of course Angela and Grant.

Then Grant says, "So what was it about?"

I again struggle to control my temper, even though I wished I'd Gibsoned him. And I wouldn't have left the toothpick out of the onion. I swallow and try to remember that this party is very important to Angela and I'm trying to support her. "He's right," I say quietly. "It was about football."

"Some people take sports very seriously," Mona says.

"Hey, you're a fighter, Jim! I like that spirit," Grant says, patting him on the back.

Maybe he was just patting Angela's back earlier. Maybe Peterson and I were both reading too much into it. I feel like an idiot. And some fighter Peterson is, huh? Making nasty remarks about Angela to her employee. I wonder if he does that at work. I wonder what he meant by "everyone knows."

The party somehow continues after that, although only for another half hour. Angela ignores me till every guest but Mona is gone.

"Angie, I'm sorry."

"Don't call me that!" she snaps.

I thought she liked it. OK, it started out with me calling her Abby, but I think of "Angie" as my special girl, the side of her that I'm the only one who knows. Not Mrs. Bower, my boss who's glaring at me.

"Tony, was it really about football?" Mona asks.

"Of course not! I would never ruin a party over football!"

Angela crosses her arms. "Oh? Basketball? Hockey?"

"Hockey, maybe."

"You humiliated me in front of the clients, my boss, and my boss's boss!"

I scowl at the mention of Grant.

Mona asks, "Tony, what did Peterson say?"

"I can't repeat it."

"Was it that Angela's a two-bit tramp who's sleeping her way to the top and does her best work in the sack?"

"You heard?"

"That's not true!" Angela says indignantly.

"No, yeah, I know." And I do. I realize that my Angie, I mean my Angela, would never do anything like that. A part of me believed Peterson, which is why I got so upset. But she's talented and hard-working and she's no tramp. Hell, the woman has only been with one man despite three marriages! "I meant, Mona, did you overhear what that snake said?"

"No, but that's what he'd likely say about a pretty young woman who's his rival for a vice-presidency."

"Yeah." I hadn't even thought of that angle.

"Of course, it doesn't help that Grant was flirting with Angela."

So it wasn't just me being jealous and Peterson being slimy! I look at Angela, who's blushing.

"Dear, would you like to tell us what's going on with you and Grant?"

Angela sighs and takes a chair. Mona and I sit on the couch.

Still blushing, Angela quietly says, "We've been mildly flirting for awhile now. Very mildly, since I was married. He's still interested, especially since I'm divorced from Michael, and of course he doesn't know about Brian and Tony. And he asked me out last week."

"He did?" I again try to control my temper.

"Yes, but I said no. I let him think I'm still getting over my divorce from Michael."

"So you didn't say anything about Tony?"

"How could I? And anyway, it doesn't matter."  
"I don't matter?"

"No, no, Darl—Tony, of course you matter. But I mean that I don't think it would be a good idea to date Grant anyway. I had no idea that Jim would say such ugly things, but that aside, it would be unwise to date my boss's boss."  
"Yes, workplace relationships are risky," Mona teases, and I know she means me and Angela, too.

"Oh, how can I face everyone on Monday?" Angela sounds like she's going to cry.

"Angela, I'm sorry. If you want me to apologize to Peterson, I will."

"No! You were very sweet to defend me, and it's not your fault. I just hate the idea that Jim and his cronies will be gossiping about me and Grant."

I cough. "Uh, and about you and me."  
"Us? Tony, what did you tell him?"

"Nothing! But he was slinging innuendos about us before he talked about you and Grant. I told him nothing's going on, but I don't think he was completely convinced."

"Can you blame him?"

My "Mona!" collides with Angela's "Mother!"

"No, really. Do you think Joanne Parker is the only one wondering how two healthy, attractive young adults can live together without fooling around? Hell, I wonder, and I know what iron willpower you two have." We both blush, but she continues. "And as long as everyone's talking, why not give them something to talk about?"

"Mother."

"Come on. You two have the house to yourselves tonight, or you will as soon as I knock some sense into your heads and make a graceful exit. Why are you wasting the time worrying about who said what about you?"

"Mother, I'm not going to sleep with Tony just because everyone assumes I have, or am about to."  
"No, you're going to sleep with him because it's what you both want. And need."

"Mona, we can't! She's still married to Brian."  
"No one in Fairfield knows that but the three of us."

"The government knows we're married, Mother."

"Not the Connecticut government. OK, so you can't bone each other in Nevada—"

"MOTHER!"

"Angela, you want me to give her the Jim Peterson treatment?"

"OK, OK, I'm going. Wait your six weeks if you want to."

"One month," Angela says quietly.

"And a day," I add.

"Not that you two are counting down or anything," Mona teases as she stands up.

Neither of us says anything.

"Goodnight. Be good. And if you can't be good, be careful." And she exits.

"Um, maybe we should, um," Angela says.

"Clean up from the party?"

"Yes. I'll get the vacuum."


	27. Another In-Law

Tony and I come downstairs holding hands, after putting the children to sleep. I look forward to this every day, our quiet alone time, after our long busy days.

We had some rocky moments after the cocktail party of course, but I've done my best to reassure him that I have no interest in Grant. And he's promised to not attack any of my guests in the future, no matter how obnoxious they are.

I didn't notice any change in how I'm treated at work, even by Jim, yesterday or today. But, yes, Jim is definitely going to try for Claude's position, as am I. I've got a lot riding on Easy Cheesy and I feel guilty not taking more work home.

We sit on the couch and then Tony says, "Angie—sorry, Angela."

"No, it's OK, Tony. I like when you call me that." I do. I only snapped at him on Friday because I didn't understand his behavior with Jim at that point.

"Good. Well, Angie, what's gonna happen to us if you get that vice-presidency? Are you gonna make time for me and the kids?"

I sigh. "I'll try, Tony, but you know how important my career is to me. Not that you and the kids aren't." Neither of us questions that I need to find time for Sam, although she's not my child.

"Yeah. Well, I guess it's like I'll want to be here with you and the kids, but I'll also want to be playing baseball."

"Yes." This is assuming that we're still together when it's baseball season.

"Four more weeks, Angela." He squeezes my hand.

"Yes," I say quietly.

Mother's advice Friday night did not make the waiting any easier.

"Let's hope they're not as challenging as the first two."  
I laugh. "Yes."

And then we kiss. I love kissing him, being kissed by him. Yes, I want more and I know he does, too, but I feel lucky to have this. I just wish that we didn't have to limit it to a couple hours a night. Sometimes I want to kiss him in the morning, when I come down for breakfast, or when I say goodbye and go to work. I want to kiss him when I come home and he greets me with a smile and sometimes a drink. I of course want to kiss him the times he takes me to and/or from the station. And I want to kiss him in the middle of the day on the weekends, for no good reason at all.

We take a break from kissing but our heads are still close. I feel like we're breathing in and out the same breath. And we see ourselves reflected in each other's eyes. I suppose these are clichés, but they feel fresh and new to me.

"Tony," I whisper.

"Angela," he whispers back.

And then the doorbell rings.

He groans. "Please, let this not be anyone you have ever dated or considered dating."

"What about you?" I tease. "Maybe one of your Brooklyn girlfriends has tracked you down."

"I asked Pop and Bobby Governale to not give out your address unless it was an emergency."

"Well, maybe the Benedetti twins consider going without your kisses to be an emergency." I know I would.

He shakes his head. "Do you want me to get the door? Seeing as it's sort of my job."

"Oh, you're off the clock right now."

"Yeah, but I'm here to protect you, be your man about the house."

I know I should say I can take care of myself, but there's a part of me that likes the idea of this strong man protecting me. "Should I go get your bat?"

"Either that or the gin and vermouth."

I laugh. Then he gives me a quick kiss and opens the door to a plump, balding man in a powder-blue leisure suit.

"Nick!"

"So Matty wasn't kiddin'. Nice digs you got here."

"Uh, thanks."

The man comes in without asking, but then Tony clearly knows him. The man looks at me and asks, "Hey, who's the skirt?"

"Uh, the skirt owns the digs."

"You're shacking up with a dame?"

"No, not exactly."

"Not exactly? Either you are or you aren't."

"Well, I'm, uh, her housekeeper."

"You're huh housekeepah?"

"Yeah."  
"He's a wonderful housekeeper. And a wonderful cook. And he's wonderful with my son."

Tony gives me a look like I'm not helping.  
The man shakes his head. "Boy, I heard you had hit rock bottom after Marie died, but I didn't think you'd sunk so low."

"I haven't hit rock bottom. Morally or financially."

"Is this how you honor her memory? Is this how you provide for her little girl?"

"Sam is my little girl, too. And I'm not dishonoring Marie."

The man shakes his head. "Seven months in the grave, and her widower is either a kept man or a servant. I don't know which is worse."

"Listen, Nick, you've got no right to judge me, considering how many times you've gone to jail."

"Jail?!"

"It's OK, Angie, it wasn't for anything violent. My father-in-law is just a swindler."

"Father-in-law?!"

"Angela Bower, meet Nick Milano, Marie's father."

"Oh. Um, pleased to meet you."

"Likewise I'm sure. Listen, Lady, I don't blame you. Tony Micelli was always a no-good bum with a wandering eye."  
"Ay-oh, oh-ay, I was faithful to Marie!"

"I said 'eye,' not, ahem."

"Tony is not a bum! He's very hard-working. And he's still playing baseball professionally."

"Yeah? Then what's he doing here? This don't look like St. Louis."

"Grandpa?" The yelling must've woken Samantha. Hopefully, she couldn't distinguish any of the words.

"Is that my little Sambina?"

"Grandpa!" Sam rounds the corner and comes tearing downstairs. I hope Jonathan isn't awake, too.

"Sambina, my bambino!" Nick cries as she leaps into his arms. "You look just like your poor mother, God rest her soul."

I look at Tony. Clearly, Sam and her grandfather adore each other, although he and Tony clearly do not.

"Grandpa, how long are you visiting?"

"Visiting?" Tony chokes out.

"Not long. I've got business to take care of in the city. I can't stay more than a week or two."  
"Yay! You'll be here for Halloween."

One of the many differences between a six-year-old and a two-year-old is that the former is much more aware of holidays, especially goodie-related holidays. Tony has agreed to make pumpkin cookies for the kindergarten party, and then Sam wants us all to go trick-or-treating with her. I guess Nick will be part of that now.

"He can't stay here," Tony says firmly. "There's no room."

"But Mrs. Bower's house is ginormous!"

"Jonathan can sleep in my room and we can put a cot in his room for Nick."  
"Who the hell is Jonathan?"

"Mommy?"

"My son. Excuse me."

I feel bad leaving Tony with this situation, and maybe I shouldn't have offered to let Nick stay here, but he is family. Not my family, but, well, actually he is sort of my family, isn't he? I mean, he's my stepdaughter's grandfather, right? I don't think I'll end up liking him as much as Tony's sweet father, who immediately made me feel welcome, but isn't this what's best for Sam? We should at least let Nick stay here tonight. And Tony and I can talk about it tomorrow.

"What is it, Darling?"

"Man here?"

"Yes, it's Sam's grandfather." I feel a pang, thinking of how Jonathan has only one grandparent, and both of Sam's grandmothers are dead. Of course, Nanna (Mother's mother) is still alive and well in London, at not quite 70, so I hope that Mother will still be around in another twenty years or more.

"Gwanpa!"

I decide to take Jonathan downstairs to meet his step-grandfather. Obviously, he and Nick don't know their relationship to each other, and I don't know how permanent it is. Not to mention, I think I'd rather Jonathan meet Matty Micelli. But this is the only grandfather available and if Nick does stay with us awhile, they're going to have to meet anyway.

"Yes, let's go see him."

I carry him downstairs, only to have Nick exclaim, "This ain't your kid, is it, Tony?"

"I'm Daddy's kid!" Sam says indignantly.

"Jonathan is the son of Angela's ex-husband." I can tell Tony is trying to control his temper.

"Oh. Yeah, he don't look Italian."

"Gwanpa!"

Tony, Nick, and Sam all look startled.  
Blushing, I say, "I told him you're Samantha's grandfather. His vocabulary is limited."

"Oh," Nick says. "Well, at least he won't keep you awake talking in his sleep, huh?"

I take it that Tony is not going to reject the sleeping arrangement I proposed.

"Angie, where do you keep the cot?"

"Out in the garage."  
"Can you show me?"

"Um, sure." I consider handing Jonathan over to Nick but he doesn't seem very grandfatherly. Well, if Tony has to tell me something privately, Jonathan is a relatively harmless audience, compared to Sam, who's very observant.

"We'll be right back," Tony says. "You two get reacquainted."

I lead Tony out to the garage. "I'm sorry, I've put you in an awkward situation."

"It's not your fault. It's his. Do you know what he said while you were upstairs?"

"Uh, no." If he could imply that Tony and I have an illegitimate toddler together (all right, Jonathan is technically illegitimate, but not because I committed adultery per se), I'm afraid to ask what he'd say when I was out of the room.

"He said," Tony whispers, " 'Why aren't you sharing a bed with her? She's got great legs!' "

I laugh. "That's not that bad."  
"Not that bad? He said it right in front of Samantha!"

"Well, he called Jonathan a bastard to his face."

"Yeah. He thinks they're too little to understand."

"Do you think Sam understood?"

"Well, she said, 'Daddy snores so who'd want to sleep with him?' "

I grin. "She has a point."

"Bassurd," Jonathan murmurs sleepily.  
I frown. "Oh dear."

Tony rolls his eyes. "Great, now you're teaching our love child profanity."

I giggle.

"Laugh if you want. But you know the worst part?"  
"What?" I hope it's not that Nick is going to try to borrow money.

"We can't K-I-S-S for a week."

I frown. "Let's hope he doesn't like sleeping on the cot."


	28. Murr and Murrs

I'm working on Sam's costume when she comes into the kitchen and asks, "What does 'murr' mean?"

"How do you spell it?"  
"M-R."

"Oh, no, Sweetie, that's a short way of saying 'mister.' "

"Oh, so does M-R-S mean 'misters'?"

"That's a very good guess, Honey, but it means 'Missus.' "

"Oh."  
"Come over here and try this on."

"OK!"

Normally, it's hard to get Sam to put on a dress, but she eagerly throws this one on over her jeans and T-shirt.

"Hey, look out for the pins!" I warn her.

"OK. How do I look?" She spins in place but carefully.

"Bee-u-tiful of course." She does, and I'm not just saying that because she's my daughter. I made a blue and white checked dress with a white blouse underneath. She's decorating the shoes herself, in the living room, with lots of newspapers on the floor because of the red glitter. I'll put her hair in pigtails on Halloween. "You will be the perfect Dorothy."

"Thanks, Daddy." She carefully peels off the dress.  
"Is Grandpa Nick still helping you with the shoes?"

"No, he and Mrs. Robinson went to the costume shop. They're going to rent their costumes."  
"Oh." I'm a little worried about their participation. Yes, they promised to stick to the _Wizard of Oz_ theme that Sam is insisting on, but Mona is perfectly capable of showing up that night as a Naughty Winkie or something.

Also, Nick is very obviously, I'll use the polite term, smitten with Mona, and she's not particularly discouraging him. It's going to be harder to send him back to New York, although as far as I can tell Mona has a short attention span with men, so this won't go on indefinitely. For now though, he's crazy about "Red" and she's enjoying the attention.

"Were you reading a book with 'Mr. and Mrs.' in it?" I ask, as I start fixing the hem of Sam's costume. (She's taller than I thought.)

"No, it's on the letter that came today, Murr and Murrs, I mean Mr. and Mrs. Micelli."

I look up. "Letter?"

"Uh huh. I couldn't read who it was from. But I can read 'Micelli.' M-I-C, see you real soon, E-L-L-I, I love you!" She's singing the song I taught her, which is my combination of the _Mickey Mouse Club_ theme with the Beatles' "All Together Now."

Trying not to give anything away I say, "Sweetheart, can you bring the letter in here?"

"OK." She races out of the room.

I tell myself it doesn't mean anything. Maybe it's just junk mail or something that got forwarded from our old place. Or it might be from someone that doesn't know that Marie died.

"Here you go, Dad."

"Thanks, Baby."  
"Who's it from?"

I look. "Oh, it's from Davey, my teammate."

"Oh. Why is he writing to you and Mommy?"

"I don't know. Um, why don't you work on your shoes some more?"

"Can I watch _Godzilla vs. the Smog Monster_ at the same time?"

"Yeah, sure."

She goes back in the living room and I open the envelope.

 _"Hey Batman,_

 _How's remarried life treating you? I hope you and the new missus can take a break from the honeymoon long enough to play a charity game next month. It'll be on Veteran's Day in Charleston, and it'll benefit veterans. Us against the Birds. What do you say?_

 _-Davey"_

And then the second page is a flyer for the event.

We can't go, or at least Angela can't go. We'd have to pose as a married couple. I mean, yes, we are a married couple, but I mean an official one. Davey and Mike have already met her, and I can't exactly say we split up. And then Sam would wonder why I'm taking Angela, when the invitation seems to be for me and Marie.

But I'm gonna have to tell Angela. And I'm gonna have to do it now, while Nick is out of the house.

I go into the living room, where Sam is more absorbed in the movie than in her shoes. I've got a sneaking suspicion I'll be up late finishing the shoes on the 30th. She doesn't notice when I head towards Angela's office with the letter.

Angela has a very nice office, or den or study, in the back of the house, off of the living room. She can find relative quiet there and the kids know they're not allowed in. I think of it as her private space, although I do go in to clean. (Same thing with her bedroom and bathroom, sort of. Well, she's said I can use her tub when she's not home, but I never have the time for Calgon to take me away.)

She's started taking more work home, yes, even on the weekend. With Nick here, our couple hours of relative privacy after putting the kids to bed each night are gone. I miss her like crazy, even though of course I see her every day. OK, I miss kissing her. It was a very pleasant habit to get into.

I knock loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to be annoying.

"Tony?"

"Yeah. You got a minute?"

"Yes, come in."

I open the door and step in, closing it behind me. "Sorry to bother you, but this came." I go over to her desk and hand her the envelope and its contents.

She reads quickly but silently. Then she looks up and says, "The Birds? But isn't your team birds?"

I smile. I forget sometimes how little she knows about baseball. "Yes, cardinals are birds. But the Orioles are the team that gets that nickname. And sometimes they're known as the O's."

"Oh. Do you want to play in the charity game? It sounds like a good cause."

"Yeah, I do. But the invitation is for both of us."

"Yes?"

"You want to go?"

"Of course."  
"But, Angie, you don't even like baseball!"

"I don't dislike it. And I'd love to see you play."

I hadn't thought of it that way. It would be nice to have "my wife" watching me, even if it's not a regular game. "What about, um, well, we'd have to act married."

"I don't think it's going to make any difference legally or otherwise. Your teammates already know, and if the government objects, we can just let them know later that we didn't consummate our marriage during my marriage to Brian."

That's assuming we won't. Well, three and a half weeks to go, right? "Um, we'll have to stay in the same hotel room."

"Oh." Her cheeks turn pastel pink, very cute.

"But I'll sleep on the floor," I say quickly.

"Tony, you don't have to do that. We could probably share a bed one night."

"It's for two nights." The night we arrive and then the night of the banquet.

"Oh. Well, maybe there will be a couch."

"Yeah, or a comfy chair."

"Yes. Um, so are they tough opponents, the Birds?"

I chuckle. "Angela, Angela, Angela."  
"Anthony, Anthony, Anthony, what?"

"You really don't know anything about baseball, do you?"

"Teach me, you clever macho man."

I shake my head. "OK, remember, the Cards are National League."  
"Yes, National League, East," she says proudly, and it is more than I expected her to remember.

"Right. And the O's are American League, East."

"So?"

"So the only time a National League team and an American League team would face off is during the World Series. It's just the top teams of each league every year. Hence the name."

"Oh. And you haven't won the same year as the Birds?"

"Honey, the Cards haven't won the pennant since before my time, '68. They won the World Series the year before, against the Red Sox."

"Oh. What about the Orioles?"

"They won their league in '71. And they won the World Series the year before that. Against the Reds."

"Oh. You have a lot of 'red' teams, don't you?"

"Well, the O's are orange if that helps."

"I'll have to pack some clothes with team colors. Red and what?"

"Red and white. Like my jersey."

"Oh, right, of course."

We both blush, remembering her wearing it and nothing else, while I wore even less, on our "wedding night."

I cough. "Uh, speaking of clothes, do you need any help with your costume for Tuesday?"

"No, I've got it covered."

"You sew?" I ask in surprise. She's not otherwise domestic.

"I'm reworking an old outfit," she says mysteriously.

"You're still not going to tell me who you're going to be, are you?"

"No. Are you going to tell me?"

"No, but I just hope we don't end up going as the same character."  
"I don't think we will."

"OK. Well, I'll let you get back to work, and I'll get back to doing Sam's costume." We all know what the kids are going as of course.

"Can I have a kiss? Seeing as you interrupted me and I'm going to pose as 'Mrs. Micelli.' "

I want to say, "You are Mrs. Micelli," but she's still legally also Mrs. Thomas. And she's Mrs. Bower at work.

But I kiss her of course. It'll have to be enough for the time being. And I get the feeling there will be plenty of kissing opportunities in Charleston.


	29. David

I leave work early on Tuesday, which I wouldn't normally do, but I want to put the finishing touches on my costume. Of course I don't tell them at work that I'm taking my son and my stepdaughter trick-or-treating. Even if I said it was just Jonathan, they would frown upon that. And it's getting closer to the decision of who will be chosen to replace Claude. It's somewhat up to Grant, but not entirely. And, yes, I'm keeping it friendly but not too friendly with him.

I should have the house sort of to myself. Sam will be at Marci's. Nick had plans to take Mother to "the track" (whether dog or horse I'm not sure). And Tony said he would be in the garage finishing up his and Jonathan's costumes, since they're both messy. (He still won't tell me who he's going to be, but I'll find out in a few hours of course.)

When I get home, I decide to take a nice bubble bath. I've been under some stress, what with the possible promotion and of course the complicated living situation. Having Nick around hasn't exactly helped, although he at least hasn't tried to borrow money yet.

Oh, speaking of money, it's the end of the month and I need to pay Tony. I'll write him a check after we get back from trick-or-treating. Yes, we both feel strange about me paying him, but he's been working so hard, taking care of the house and everyone. I'd feel worse if I didn't pay him.

When I go up to my room, I'm surprised to see Jonathan. Yes, he's been sleeping in here, but I would've thought that Tony would've taken him out to the garage and not left him unwatched for so long. Yes, Jonathan is napping now, but what would've happened if he woke up and no one was around? That I still feel guilty about the day that Tony took me to the station and we left him unattended doesn't help.

I'm very glad I came home early. I'll have to talk to Tony about this. I remind myself that he's never had to care for a toddler before, since Marie was always with Sam, but he should know better.

I sigh and decide to try to forget about it while I take my bath. If Jonathan wakes up, I'll be just in the next room after all. I take off my heels, hose, and dress, then, in my bra, panties, and slip, I go into the bathroom to start the water running.

But when I step into the room, Tony is stepping out of the tub! I stand there, at first in shock. Yes, I did tell him he could use my bathtub when he wants to, but he said he usually doesn't have time for a leisurely bath. Then I feel relief that he didn't abandon Jonathan and is right in the next room.

And then it sinks in that I'm looking at Tony naked, for the first time since we first woke up together! I thought he was a stranger then, but he definitely isn't now. He's Anthony Morton Micelli, my third husband, my housekeeper, and one of my best friends.

I know I should look away, respect his privacy, but I can't seem to stop staring. It's partly lust but it's also an almost artistic appreciation of the perfect molding of his body, the muscles, the hair, the everything.

When I look at his face, I wonder if it'll show embarrassment or annoyance or what. But he's smiling.

He whispers, "You make me feel like David."  
"David?" I whisper back. The only celebrities named David I can think of are David Brenner and David Copperfield.

He poses with one arm at his side, and the other hand, the one holding a washcloth, near his shoulder. And he turns his head as if gazing off into the distance. Of course, Michelangelo's _David_. Well, he is perfectly sculpted.

"You are a work of art," I murmur.

He blushes a little. Then he looks and me and breathes, "So are you."

I realize I'm standing here in only my underwear. I feel self-conscious as he gazes at me, but he smiles reassuringly, even as his body goes through a change that marble never could.

Our eyes meet and I know we're both thinking _Three weeks down, three to go_. Oh, how are we going to last that long, when all I want to do right now is take his gleaming, wet, perfect body into my bed?

"Hey, anybody home?" Nick bellows.

"Tony?" Mother calls.

"I guess they're back from the track," Tony whispers.

I nod.

He comes closer and whispers, "You get dressed and make sure they don't come upstairs. I need to get back to my room and get dressed."

I nod again, but I'm very distracted by him standing so close, especially since he still has an erection.

He looks down and breathes, "Angie," so I know he's not feeling entirely like the voice of reason. I want him to take me in his arms. I want us to kiss passionately. I still want to take him to my bed.

"Where Tony?"

Right, my son is in the next room. And the grandparents are downstairs.

"Sorry," I gasp, although I'm not quite sure what I'm apologizing for. I dash into the bedroom and go to Jonathan's little bed. "Sweetheart, are you all right?"

"Mommy, where Tony?"

"He's busy right now, Sweetie."

"Oh. Me hungwy."

"OK. Let me just get dressed and we'll go downstairs and have a snack."

"Kay."

I'm very lucky he's not at an age where he would question this situation. I quickly throw on a tan smock, no zippers, no belts, no buttons. I put on sandals since, again, I'm aiming for speed and simplicity. Meanwhile poor Tony is presumably doing his best to be quiet in the bathroom.

I pick up Jonathan and carry him downstairs, only to catch Mother necking with Nick on the living room couch!

"Mother!" I gasp. I know, I shouldn't be shocked, but I am. And after all, she has her own apartment. Can't they neck there?

"Angela, what are you doing home so early?" Typical of her, putting me on the defensive.

"Where's Tony?" Nick asks.

"He's taking a bath," I blurt out, my imagination for once failing me.

"What, a bubble bath?" Nick says with a sneer, like he thinks this would be a sissy thing to do.

As a matter of fact, I did smell bubble bath powder, but sweet-scented or not, I have never seen a man as wonderfully masculine as Tony. I force myself not to dwell on that. "I mean a shower."  
"You sound unsure, Dear. Maybe you should go check," Mother says mischievously.

"Why's he taking a bath or a shower in the afternoon?" Nick asks, reasonably enough.

"Um, I don't know. I, uh, I just heard the water running when I got home."

Jonathan says something that sounds like, "Stwa." I don't know if it's a random sound or if he's trying to explain.

Then Sam comes in the front door. "Daddy, I'm home! Oh, hi, Everybody. Where's Daddy?"

"Taking a bubble bath," Nick says.

"Or shower," Mother says.

"Oh. Do you all have your costumes ready? Marci will be here in two hours to go trick-or-treating!"

"Um, I need to work on mine but it'll be ready in time. Mother, can you get a snack for Jonathan?"

"Of course."

"Thank you." I pass him over to Mother.

As I head back upstairs, I hear Sam ask, "Why's Dad taking a bath or shower in the afternoon?"

Jonathan says, "Hey."

"Hay is for horses," Sam says and laughs heartily, like she just came up with this.

I miss the rest of the conversation because I return to my bedroom. I check the bathroom. Tony is gone, presumably to his room.

I consider taking my bath, but I don't think I could relax enough now, especially knowing that his body was in my tub just a few minutes ago. So instead I take out my costume and finish it up.


	30. Trick or Treat

"What a cute family you have!"

I don't explain, I just thank the old lady.

Sam's theme for the costumes of course adds to the "family" appearance. Even Marci, her "very bestest friend," is dressed as the Wicked Witch of the West.

I didn't have to make that costume, since that was up to Mrs. Ferguson. But I did spend a lot of time getting Jonathan's Toto costume just right. With Angela's permission, I cut up an old black faux fur I found in the attic. I made paws and ears and a tail and everything. Angela did the face make-up. He looks adorable, although the costume is a little hot and he keeps wanting to push back the head-piece.

For myself, I did the Scarecrow, even though I knew I was setting myself up for Nick's ridicule. You know, "brainless." Angela did my make-up, too, once she saw the outfit.

Mona did her own make-up, silver eyeshadow and silver lipstick. She's the Tin "Man," but Jack Haley never wore a silver miniskirt and silver go-go boots. At least the top isn't as low-cut as it could be. "No need to show everyone your heart, Mother," as Angela said. Oh, and Mona has a little tin funnel for a hat.

Nick is the Cowardly Lion. He looks a little like Bert Lahr, or at least he does in all that fur and make-up. Mona did his make-up. He keeps complaining about how uncomfortable he is with his heavy costume, and I want to send him home (I mean to Brooklyn), but I know Sam would be upset if I did.

As for Angela, mmm. Admittedly, she looked a lot sexier in the outfit she was wearing when she walked in on me in the bathroom (which I'm doing my best not to think about, or the look in her eyes as she looked at me), but she looks lovely right now. She took an old pink ball gown she bought when she first lost her teenaged fat, and she's added wings, a star-tipped wand, and a big silver crown. Her hair is down and she put some red in it to turn strawberry blonde.

I can't help thinking about future Halloweens, hopefully without Nick, maybe with another kid or two. Not that Angela and I have worked out all the issues related to that yet. Or much else, I'll admit. Are we any more ready to be married than we were three or four weeks ago? Yeah, we're probably more ready to go to bed, but that's a different matter.

I remind myself that when I eloped with Marie—which Nick still hasn't forgiven me for—we didn't have all the answers. OK, I was a lot younger then, but still.

I did know I was in love with Marie. I'm still not sure about Angela. We've known each other barely a month. Marie was a neighborhood girl, so I knew her before I even noticed girls. Before I kissed "Ingrid." OK, yeah, I have known Angela a long time, if we really did meet one moonlit night by a lake. But it's not like we kept in touch all those years.

We all get more compliments as we make our way through the neighborhood. Yeah, there are people who think it's weird that Angela's family is trick-or-treating with her housekeeper's family. I know that they'll think it's weird if and when she becomes her housekeeper's true wife. I can't imagine how hard this would be if I were really just her housekeeper, if I didn't have a real career to go back to.

I did tell Marci's father that, yes, I'm that Tony Micelli, but most of the men in the neighborhood don't seem to follow sports, other than golf, enough to recognize my name. Or maybe, to be honest, I'm not that big a name. I've never been a superstar. Yeah, it'd be nice to have the money and the fame, but I don't need it. I have enough.

Jonathan falls asleep about halfway through trick-or-treating. It's his first time out. (Sam in contrast is tireless.) Angela and I take turns carrying Jonathan and she apologizes for not thinking to bring his stroller.

"It's OK," I whisper as I hand him off to her again, "we were a little distracted."

Her face turns as pink as her gown.

God, I want her! I want to be inside her! And maybe once or twice, I want to make a baby with her.

I'm very glad that I'm not wearing a skin-tight costume. And with all the straw I stuffed in my pants, my hard-on hopefully isn't too obvious. If only I could wipe off the dopy grin I'm sure I'm wearing.

I caught myself in the mirror once, when I'd been thinking about her, and I looked brain-damaged. No girl has had that effect on me, that mixture of lust and what the owl in _Bambi_ would call twitterpatedness, since I guess Marie. Betty got to me physically but I didn't feel affectionate or infatuated.

I'd feel like an idiot if I didn't think that I have a similar effect on Angela. Oh, she doesn't look like a goofball. She looks more beautiful, more feminine, softer, more—

"Uh, Tony, I think I'm gonna bug out."

"Huh?" I try to focus on my father-in-law.

"In the leaving sense. I'm gonna stay with Red."  
"What, tonight?"

"Yeah. She invited me. And then I'll head back to Brooklyn tomorrow."

"Oh." That's good, we're getting rid of him. But I feel like a bad host, even if I didn't want this guest.

"Blondie said I can visit again though."  
"Oh, OK." I know I shouldn't let him call my wife Blondie, although I guess it's not any worse than Red.

"You gonna be there awhile? As in months from now."

"Um, I hope so."

"And there's nothin' goin' on?"

"Um, not really, no."  
"Hm. Well, you know, Marie wouldn't send down firebolts if there were."  
"Thanks," I say quietly.

"You know I never thought you were good enough for Marie."  
"Yeah, Nick, I know."  
"But you're not bad. I coulda done worse for a son-in-law. And Red feels the same."

I look at him more closely, trying to read his facial expression through the mane and the make-up. Did Mona tell him about Vegas? I don't think she should trust him too much. But maybe she likes him more than I realized.

"You know she's really hopin' you two get together. Even if you are Blondie's housekeepah."

"Yeah, I know."

"And, yeah, OK, she's a lot more uptight than Red, but she's the kind you get her drunk, and she'll dance on tables and do a strip-tease."  
"Thanks for the tip, Nick."

"No problem." Then he goes to catch up with Sam, who keeps running ahead, so he can bid her goodbye for now.

Angela comes back and quietly says, "Well, that wasn't too painful, was it?"

"It could've been worse." Of course, the next time Nick visits, I hope to be "engaged" or actually publicly married to Angela.

Then Mona saunters over and says, "So you want me to see if the Fergusons will look after the kids tonight?"

"No!" Angela and I exclaim.

"Are you sure? Maybe you two could take another bubble bath."

Angela blushes again and I say, "You really don't have a heart, do you?"

"Well, it's not my most vital organ." Then she laughs and goes over to Nick.

"Uh, there's not any chance of her ending up marrying Nick, is there?" I ask.

"I was hoping to set her up with your father," Angela teases.

"That would be interesting," I say. "But I don't think his heart could take it."  
"What about Nick's heart?"

"He doesn't have one."

"Everyone has a heart, Tony. Even Mother."

"Yeah, but some hide theirs better than others."

And then we look at each other and I want to kiss her here in the middle of the block, with little kids going by, dressed like _Star Wars_ and Disney characters. I mean actual movie-level costumes, as opposed to Brooklyn, where an eye-patch and a sheet could win you first prize in a costume contest, as a pirate ghost, or an Ancient Greek with lazy eye.

"Daddy, Mrs. Bower! Hurry up, Slowpokes!"

"Pokes," Jonathan murmurs.

We go catch up with Sam.

When we get home, it takes Sam awhile to wind down. I tried to limit how much candy she ate tonight, but she is pretty wired. Plus, she seemed to love going from house to house, even more than trick-or-treating in Brooklyn.

"The houses are more apart than apartments, Dad, but they've got the good stuff."

"Yeah, it looks like it," I say, glancing at the almost full bag that I'm going to sneak downstairs.

"Can we trick or treat here every year?"

"Would you like that, Baby?"

"Yeah, I like Fairfield. There's no stickball but I like it."  
"I'm glad, Sweetheart. Um, do you like Mrs. Bower and Jonathan?"

"Yeah, she's a very nice lady. And he's not bratty like some babies."

I smile. "Yeah."

"And Mrs. Robinson is soooooo funny!"

"Yeah, she is."

I want to tell her that this could be her family, but I can't. It's too soon. At least she's not homesick for Brooklyn. Maybe if we'd moved here when she was older, it would've been more of an adjustment. Still, I don't want her to lose touch with her roots entirely. Maybe we can do Thanksgiving at Mrs. Rossini's, like usual. I hope Angie would like that.

She'll be free of Brian by then. Maybe we could become engaged. Maybe.

When Sam finally drops off to sleep, I kiss her forehead and then sneak the candy out. I'll dole a few pieces out a day. I remember Marie was good about her not eating too much junk. I need to be, too.

But when I go downstairs and to the kitchen, I find Angela deep into Jonathan's bag of candy! "Glinda, that's not very good of you," I tease.

"Tony, you startled me!"

"Well, we're even, since you startled me this afternoon."

She blushes. "I'm so sorry about that! But you didn't seem embarrassed."

"Well, I didn't want to wake up Jonathan by shrieking, 'Eek!' "

She giggles. "I suppose I should've said, 'Boo!' "

"Yeah. I guess it was a Halloween thrill we weren't counting on."

"Yes." She crumples up a candy wrapper and then says, "I need to pay you."

I chuckle. "Oh, you can look anytime for free, Angie."

She wipes the chocolate off her hands and onto a napkin. "No, your salary."

I frown. "Oh, right."

She goes and gets a check from a drawer. "I know it hasn't been a full month but this should cover moving expenses."

"What expenses? I used my van and Bobby Governale."

"Please, Tony, just take it."

I do and I look at it. It's less than I make playing ball of course, but it's more than I expected. "Are you sure this is the going rate?"

"It might be a little higher than the neighborhood average. But you've earned every penny. And I did deduct room and board."

"OK. I still feel weird about this."

"I know, but it's for Sam's education."

"Yeah." I fold it up and put it in a pocket of my scarecrow pants. Nick tried to borrow money earlier, but I told him I hadn't been paid yet. If he asks tomorrow, I'll just lie. "We should probably change."

"Yes. Um, could you help me with the hooks in the back?"

"I didn't mean in the kitchen!"

Blushing, she says, "Mother helped me into it earlier. I can't reach the hooks myself."

I swallow. "OK. Turn around."

She does. There's that great back again, which I expose more of as I undo the hooks. And then I find myself unhooking her bra, too.

"Tony!" she whispers.

"Just trying to help." I caress her bare back.

Her bra and her gown fall to the floor. I reach for her front, cupping her perky, silky breasts in my hands. I expect her to pull away but she leans into me. I kiss her neck and she shivers.

"Are you a good witch?" I ask.

"Only ugly witches are bad," she says, in a silly, high-pitched voice.

"Then you must be a very, very good witch."

"And you are a very wise Scarecrow," she jokes in a much lower register than before.

I don't feel wise. I feel like doing many foolish things with her.

"I think they hid the candy in the kitchen," I hear Sam say.

"Candy!" Jonathan replies.

We freeze. We can't let the kids catch us like this!

"Ugh, you're heavy, Jonathan!"

Did she actually carry him all the way downstairs? She wanted to carry him earlier, since Dorothy would carry Toto, but Mona pointed out that it would be harder to hold her trick-or-treat bag if she did that.

"I need to set you down."  
"Kay."

"I'm going to go out there," I whisper in Angela's ear. "You wait till the coast is clear." Which is obvious advice but needs to be said.

She nods and her strawberry blonde hair tickles my nose. I hope I don't sneeze.

I reluctantly let go of her and head out to the living room. "Aha!" I say, putting the kids on the defensive.

Sam screams and Jonathan cries. I pick them both up as she apologizes and he hiccups.

"Never carry Jonathan down the stairs again," I say, deciding not to mention the candy.

"Daddy, are you mad?"

And the weird thing is, I'm not. Disappointed, yes, but not mad. Angela and I probably shouldn't have taken it so far, especially in the kitchen. Maybe it's for the best that we were interrupted.

I put both kids back to sleep and then I go take a shower, yes, a cold one, because I'm thinking of my encounters with Angela today. When I come out in a towel, I see her in the hallway, wearing a dress that was in the dryer earlier.

"Good thing I didn't bring up the laundry yet," I whisper.

She nods and smiles. Then she steps close and says, "I hid the gown in my study."  
"Ah. Do you want me to wash it?"

"It's dry-clean only."

"Yeah, but I could still take care of it. With what you're paying me—"

"You have more than earned your salary, Tony."

I can see why Nick and my friends think of me as a kept man. But that doesn't stop me from kissing her goodnight. Not even the fact that I'm wearing only a towel and a few stray wisps of straw can stop that.

"I think this is enough for October," she whispers when we break apart, although her hand is still on my bare back.

"Bring on November," I murmur.

She laughs softly and steps away. "Be careful what you wish for."

But I know November will come, whether or not we're ready for it.


	31. Form of a Question

"Daddy, you're kissing Mrs. Bower! Now you have to marry her!"

Tony and I spring apart guiltily, although this is far less than we did in the kitchen Halloween night. We thought Sam was in her room doing her "homework," coloring in drawings of fruits and vegetables. (With markers, since we haven't had a chance yet to replace the crayons Jonathan ate.) It's a Saturday and I again took work home, but Tony lured me out of the den with walnut fudge. And of course I had to thank him, so, well, anyway.

I try to gauge Sam's expression. Is she shocked? Pleased? Somehow both?

Tony sits down and draws her into his lap. I remain standing by the fudge, trying to resist eating for comfort and distraction.

"Sweetheart, how would you feel if I married Mrs. Bower?"

She scrunches up her face, the tiny, delicate features so unlike Tony's, so like Marie's. "Is Mama never coming back?"

"I'm sorry, Baby, she's not."

"Then I guess you'd better marry Mrs. Bower so you won't be lonely."  
"I'm not lonely, Honey. I've got you."

She shakes her head. "Grown-ups who used to be married get lonely in a special way. Mrs. Rossini says you need a wife."

"Oh. Um, do you think Mrs. Bower will make a good wife?"

I really don't want to be present for this conversation, but I don't know how to make a graceful exit, and I am curious.

She looks at me appraisingly. "Well, she's pretty and she's nice and she's smart. But she can't cook."

"Yeah, that could be a problem," Tony says, trying to keep a straight face.  
"But then you cook, so I guess it's OK. Plus we'd get to live in her house forever, right?"

"Right."

"Daddy," she whispers loudly, "I think you have to propose to her."  
"Oh, right. I'm out of practice at this."

"Good luck!"

"Thanks, Sweetheart." He kisses her forehead and sets her on the floor.

Then he comes over and gets down on one knee. This whole thing is ridiculous, but we had talked about a show wedding, so I guess we have to have a show proposal. I don't know that we've worked out our issues but I can't see myself turning him down, especially not in front of Sam. And after all, she has given us her blessing.

I hold out my hand and he takes it. He clears his throat. "Angela Bower, although I haven't known you very long, these past five weeks have been some of the most amazing of my life. You are pretty and nice and smart."

Now I'm having a hard time keeping a straight face.

"Do you want me to leave so you can say mushy stuff?" Sam offers.

"No, that's OK. Let's see if she accepts me without it."

I'm disappointed. I realize suddenly that we've never said we love each other. But I don't know if I love him, and I wouldn't want him to make such a confession in front of his daughter.

"You haven't said the 'will you marry me' part yet," Sam prompts.

"Right. Angela, I can't imagine not being married to you. I don't want to imagine it."

I realize I can't and don't either. Even though our marriage has been half a joke all along, there is something real underneath. And if we don't yet have love, I think we could someday.

"You have to put it in the form of a question, Dad. Like on _Jeopardy_."

"Oh, OK." He grins. "What Connecticut WASP advertising genius will marry an Italian ball player from Brooklyn?"

"No, Dad." She shakes her head as if he's hopelessly dim. "Mrs. Bower, will you marry my father?"

I smile. "Yes. I will. And please call me Angela."

And then they both grin at me and we end up in a, well, a family hug. This is, suffice to say, nothing like my three earlier proposals, including Tony's slurred, "Hey, if you're a nice girl, less go get married. You wanna go get married, Abby?"

(My reply was, as I've recalled in recent weeks, "It's Angela. And sure. Why the hell not?")

When we all separate, Sam exclaims, "Let's go tell Jonathan!"

"Um, he's a little young to understand marriage, Honey."

"Can I tell Marci?"

Tony and I look at each other. If Sam tells Marci, then Marci will tell her parents, and before we know it, the whole neighborhood will know. Are we ready for that? On the other hand, I guess it's better than having to tell everyone ourselves.

"Wait till school on Monday, Sweetheart."

"Oh, OK. I'm gonna go watch TV now so you two can be mushy."

"Thank you, Sam."  
"You're welcome, Mrs.—Angela." She smiles at me, that sweet, warm smile that all the Micellis have, although with a couple teeth missing, and then runs off to the living room.

"Um," Tony says.  
"Well," I say.

"Uh, that's not how I wanted that to happen."  
"It's OK."

"Um, Angela, you know I, well, we haven't known each other a very long time, but you know I feel, well, like I said, so, yeah."  
I smile and take pity on him. "I feel the same."  
"Well, good. And we, um, well, I think there's a lot of potential here."

"Me, too."

And then we kiss. It is different knowing that we don't have to hide it anymore. Not that we'll probably be too demonstrative in front of the children. And I suppose it was inevitable that Sam would catch us.

When we stop, he says, "So, uh, so when should we tie the knot?"

"Thanksgiving?" I joke. "My marriage to Brian will be over the Tuesday before."

"Well, I was kind of hoping we'd go to Mrs. Rossini's for Thanksgiving. Sam and I, and Pop, always have."  
"Oh. Thanksgiving in Brooklyn?"

"Yeah. You got something against Brooklyn?"

"Well, no, but, well, it's so much nicer here."

He frowns. "You wouldn't marry me if we had to live in Brooklyn, would you?"

"Why would we have to live in Brooklyn?"

"I'm just saying. What if we had to live in Brooklyn and you had to give up your Jag and go around in my van all the time? You wouldn't like that, would you?"

"Tony, there's nothing wrong with liking nice things. I understand that you've chosen to live below your means as a way to keep in touch with your roots, but these are my roots." I spread my arms, to indicate not just the kitchen but the whole house and Fairfield.

"My van is nice. My old apartment was nice."

"Tony, what do you want me to do? Go back to being a copywriter? Refuse the vice-presidency, if on Monday Grant tells me they've offered it?"

"Oh, well, if Grant offers it, how could you say no?"

"Tony, I told you there's nothing going on with me and Grant! You're the one I want to be with."

"Yeah, OK," he mutters, looking away.

"If you want to get married at Mrs. Rossini's, we'll get married at Mrs. Rossini's!"

He looks at me again. "You mean it?"

"Yes, in between courses."

"Come on," he says, annoyed.

This isn't how this is supposed to go. This isn't how any of this is supposed to go.

Then Mother rushes in and kisses us each on the cheek. "Congratulations!"

"Thanks," we mutter.

"What's wrong? Has becoming engaged taken all the fun out of being married?"

Sometimes I think Mother is far too insightful for her own good.

"Mona, it's just, well, Angela and I haven't worked out all our issues."

She rolls her eyes. "Do you think I worried about that when I met her father?"

"Mother, it's just, well, Tony and I still don't know each other very well."

"There's plenty of time to get to know each other after you're married."

"Honestly, Mother, you make this sound like an arranged marriage."

"It is arranged. By Fate."

"Fate?" Tony says.

"Oh God, here we go," I mutter.

"Do you think it's coincidence that two such compatible people just happened to meet in Las Vegas?"

"Uh, yeah?" he says.

I smile a little. He still doesn't really understand his mother-in-law.

"Think about it, Tony! Las Vegas, the city of luck and chance."  
"Yeah?" He looks at me. "Is she saying marriage is a gamble?"

I shrug.

"Life itself can be a crap shoot. But you two got lucky! Well, not in the usual sense."

Tony and I both blush.

"Yes, you're different from each other, but you also speak the same language. A language that Michael and apparently Brian did not."

"Marie didn't either," he says quietly. "I mean, I loved her of course, and we came from the same world. Hell, the same street. But I couldn't talk to her like I can to Angie."

"Oh, Tony," I murmur.

"Marie was the girl I loved when I wasn't yet a man. But I did kiss Angela first."  
"WHAT?"  
"Now you've done it," I mutter.

"Tony, why don't you tell Mother the 'Ingrid' story, and I'll go call Isabel and Wendy so they don't have to hear our news from Mrs. Ferguson."

I go in the living room and Sam turns away from the TV to ask, "Mrs.—Angela, can me and Marci be your flower girls? I mean after I tell her."

"Yes, Sweetheart, you can."

She smiles. "I like how you say that."

It just slipped out, without thinking. "I like how you say 'Angela.' "

"Is it OK if I don't call you Mom?"

"Yes, it's OK. Marie was your mother and I don't want you to ever forget her."

"Do you still remember your dad?"

"Every day."

"Oh, Angela!" She suddenly sounds panicky. "Who's going to give you away?" She's apparently seen some program with a wedding and knows the traditions.

"Well, I've been married before so maybe we can leave that out."

"Nuh uh. It's not official then. I know! I'll ask Grandpa to do it!"

"Uh, Grandpa Nick or Grandpa Matty?"

"Grandpa Matty. He's handsomer."

I smile. "Good choice."

I realize I'm not quite ready to tell my best friends. I know what they'll say anyway. Isabel will sigh, "Well, if you're sure this is what you want," while Wendy will squeal, "Marriage with your hunky housekeeper? That's even better than an affair!"

I do go into my den, but I work on the account I brought home. Whether or not I get the vice-presidency, I still want to take my career seriously. Even if I do become Mrs. Micelli in truth.


	32. Foul Play

After we put the kids to sleep on Monday, Angela says she'll slip into something more comfortable, so I head downstairs and prepare the living room. We won't fool around too much, but we do need to celebrate our engagement and her promotion. Yeah, I've never necked with a vice-president of an ad agency before.

I light scented candles and turn off the electric lights. Well, I think Angie and I can make our own kind of electricity, enough to light all of Fairfield. Maybe all of New York if we really got going. I get out my K-tel _Romantic Hits_ LP and put it on the stereo, though I don't drop the needle till I hear her coming downstairs.

"My love must be a kind of blind love  
I can't see anyone but you  
Sha bop sha bop!"

I really can't look away from her. When she said "more comfortable," I wondered if it would be lingerie, but I didn't think she'd be that daring in the living room, especially if Sam took it into her head to again try to track down the Halloween haul.

Angela looks amazing, in a light blue dress made of some thin, filmy material, with a sort of shawl over it, made of the same material. I'm bad at describing women's clothing, sorry. But anyway, it's got a plunging neckline that I'm very surprised by.

"You look incredible!" I breathe.

"Thank you," she says with a modest smile. "It's what Goldie Hawn wore in _Foul Play_."

"Oh, yeah, it does look familiar." It's a good choice. They're both tall-ish, leggy blondes. "That's the one where she's the shy, bespectacled librarian, right?"

"Yes, the one who falls for the charming, handsome cop."

"Oh, yeah, there's a big chase scene, in San Francisco, huh?"  
"Yes. We should go back there sometime when I'm not tracking down a husband. Not for a chase scene."  
"I've already caught who I want."

I catch her in my arms and we kiss but then it becomes a slow dance, swaying to the music together.

"We haven't danced since the night you first proposed."  
"We haven't even had an actual date since we met."

"Yes. We'll have to get a sitter once we're officially married."

"Sounds good. Um, but I was thinking, I could keep being your housekeeper, if you want."  
"Till Spring training?"

"Yeah. I'm starting to get the hang of it. Housekeeping I mean." I don't feel as overwhelmed as I did at first. I'm starting to get in a routine, and be less thrown when things don't go according to plan.

"You'll just miss the 'other girls' in your coffee klatch," she teases.

"Yeah," I say quietly. They were very surprised when I told them today about my engagement, like I'd crossed over to the other side. I noticed they felt a lot more self-conscious talking trash about their bosses, like I'd tell my fiancée and then she'd report them.

I haven't told anyone in Brooklyn yet, except of course Pop. He's very happy for me and said he'd love to give Angie away if she wants. I will have to talk to Mrs. Rossini and Father Marconi, if we really are going to have the "show wedding" at her place on Thanksgiving. I think she'd be thrilled actually. As for Father Marconi, I don't know if it counts as false witness, or if it's more like a couple renewing their vows. But I think he'll be glad I took his advice about not going through with the annulment.

The next song is ""Ain't Nothin' Like the Real Thing." Is this the real thing? I do know there's nothing like it.

After awhile, we seem to be doing more kissing than dancing. So we end up on the couch. To my surprise, the third song is recent, Manilow's "Ready to Take a Chance Again." And I suddenly remember that this song was in _Foul Play._ Sometimes I wonder if there really is something to Mona's talk about Fate. Or maybe it's all coincidence.

Then I remember something else. In _Foul Play_ , the shawl part lifted off and the dress was sleeveless. I smile as I find out that this is indeed the same design.

"And I'm ready to take a chance again,  
Ready to put my love on the line with you.  
Been living with nothing to show for it;  
You get what you get when you go for it,  
And I'm ready to take chance again with you."

Am I ready? I mean, I guess I am, since I've proposed for real and we are telling people we're engaged.

I love necking with her, kissing her face and nibbling her neck, gasping in her ear, hearing her gasp in mine, feeling her kiss my face and nuzzle my neck. I don't think I've had so much fun with second base since I was a teenager. And, yes, I say that as a professional second-base man.

I caress her bare arms and then down her cleavage. I meet her deep, dark eyes and she nods, so I tease the edges of her plunging neckline, and then I reach inside and cup her breasts, because of course she's braless, like Goldie was during that whole damn movie I now recall.

"Oh, Baby, My Sweet Angie!"  
"Darling, Darling Tony!"

We're trying to be quiet, we really are. We definitely do not want the kids waking up.

So it's very annoying when, just as Tony Orlando and Dawn sing, "Knock three times on the ceiling if you want me," someone pounds on the front door.

Before we can discuss what to do or even really react, we hear someone bellowing, "ANGELA!"  
I don't need Angela to whisper, "Michael!"

There's a moment where I consider hiding, not out of cowardice, but to make things easier on her. But if, as seems likely, he knows I live here, me crouching in the linen closet will not help. There are too many things of mine here, including of course my daughter.

"I'll get it," I whisper. I don't know why we're whispering.

"Are you sure?"

"It's my job," I say, meaning not just as housekeeper but as her man. Never mind that her very recently ex-husband is the one I'm protecting her from.

She nods and straightens her dress, while I get to my feet. But then I hear the key turn in the lock. I look at her and we silently communicate _You didn't get the keys back?_ and _I didn't think it would be necessary._

"So you are here, Micelli!"

"Michael, keep your voice down. You'll wake the children."

"The children?" he mouths.

She gets up and gestures that we should all go talk in the kitchen, so the two of us follow her through the swinging door. I wouldn't have chosen a place where we're all going to have to sit so close, but it is further from the upstairs hallway. And her study wouldn't feel right, because that's her space.

They both sit down but I start puttering around, making coffee. Even if he's an unwelcome guest, he is a guest. And it gives me something to do.

"Tony and his daughter have moved in," Angela says, getting right to the point.

"You have a daughter?" he says in surprise.

"Yeah, Samantha. She's six."

"No one told me that part."

"What did they tell you, Michael?"

"That you're shacking up with a guy and passing him off as your housekeeper. And from the description, it sounded like Micelli."

"He has been doing the housework. But we wanted to live together and not dissolve our marriage."

Michael shakes his head. "I thought it was just a crazy, drunken Vegas thing."

"It started out that way. But it's become something much more."

"Angela, this isn't like you."  
"I know, Michael. I've always been very cautious and methodical."

"What did you do to her, Micelli? And don't say poetry."

I can't give him an honest answer, especially not when it would embarrass the hell out of Angela. And I'm not entirely sure what was and is special about me.

"He listens to me. He cares about my feelings. He makes me laugh."  
"So it's not just a sex thing?"

Now she blushes. "We haven't had sex yet. We're waiting till Brian's Reno divorce goes through."  
"No sex and you're dressed like that?"

"She's in her own home," I say. "She can dress how she wants."

"No, Micelli, you don't understand. Angela does not show skin outside the bedroom."

"Well, maybe your Angela didn't. But mine does."

She smiles at my calling her "my Angela."

"This is what I mean. Angela, this isn't like you to think with your, your heart. OK, I'll admit that Tony's a good-looking guy, if you like the musclehead Italian type."

"Thanks," I mutter, wondering if I can get away with putting something in his coffee.

"Have a fling with him if you want. Hell, it'd probably be good for you. But don't marry him! Or stay married to him or whatever. I mean, what about your precious career? Why aren't you putting that first anymore?"

"I can be married to Tony and have my career."

"Yeah, Bower," I say proudly, "you happen to be talking to one of the vice-presidents of the fifteenth largest advertising agency in the country."

"You got that promotion?" Michael says in surprise. I wonder if he knows about Grant. I'm guessing not.

"Yes, it's official today."  
"Oh, well, uh, congratulations. But isn't that going to demand even more of your time and attention?"

"Tony and I will work it out."

"While he's posing as your housekeeper?"

"I told you, he is working as my housekeeper. But he's now officially my fiancé."

"I thought you two were still married."

"Uh, yeah," I say, "but given the whole bigamy issue, we're not telling everyone that part."

"I don't blame you." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry I stormed in here like the betrayed husband. But I can't say I'm crazy about this situation."  
"I understand," she says, "but I want you to give me your house key. And I'll have my lawyer contact you about buying you out of the house."

Michael looks at me instead of her. "Tony, when your marriage broke up, was it in stages like this?"

"My wife died," I say quietly.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know."

I shake my head. "How do you like your coffee?"

"Black. Like my heart."

We all laugh. And then, from the living room, we can hear the Archies sing "Sugar, Sugar." This "romantic hits" album isn't as romantic as I hoped. But perhaps that's just as well, especially since the kids' crying upstairs starts drowning out the music.


	33. Not the Whole Enchilada

On Tuesday, I expect Mother or Tony to pick me up at the train station as usual. Even Michael would be less of a surprise.

(We let him sleep over, on the couch, so he could spend a little time with Jonathan in the morning. It took us awhile to reassure the kids last night, especially Sam, that everything was OK. She kept saying, "Daddy, you said there's no crime in Confetti-cut!" and wouldn't believe at first that Michael wasn't an intruder. And then she said she thought Mr. Bower was supposed to be dead. I don't think she's too clear on the concept of divorce, but then this isn't a typical divorce, is it?)

"OK, Angela, you're coming with me."  
"Wendy, Tony is expecting me home for dinner."

"He knows I'm taking you out tonight."

"Oh. Well, thank you."

I don't know if this is in congratulations on my promotion and/or engagement, or what. I told her briefly about both on the phone last night, before Tony and I put the kids to bed. But wouldn't she invite Isabel along? And she doesn't exactly seem to be in a congratulatory mood. Still, free food is free food.

We go to her favorite Mexican restaurant. The food is pretty good and the waiters are cute. Plus, it's an easy place to talk, and I'm getting the feeling that she wants to talk.

She waits till the food arrives before she says, "OK, Angela, what the hell is going on with you and all those husbands?"

I blush. "Um, what do you mean?"

"I know about Michael's return last night, and a month ago, the same day that Tony first showed up. And there was that other man, with a mustache, that day, the one you and Isabel said later was a poet. I can't get a straight answer out of her or your mother. They keep saying I need to talk to you if I want the full story."

I sigh and then, between bites, I tell her the general outlines, as quietly and with as few details as possible. After all, we are in public, even if no one seems to be paying attention.

"So why did you lie to me and not Isabel?" she asks, fairly enough.

"Well, I knew she would advise caution and you would say go for the gusto."

"Well, yeah, especially when the gusto is muy guapo. So what's stopping you?"

"We're waiting till I'm divorced from Brian. And it's only another couple weeks more." I take a sip of my piña colada. "And, well, we're 'getting married' on Thanksgiving, in Brooklyn."

"You didn't tell me it was that soon!"

"I wanted to wait till we were closer. You're welcome to come of course."

"Welcome? What, so I'm not your matron of honor?"

I hadn't even planned on having one. "We're going to keep things simple. You know, Samantha as the flower girl, Tony's father giving me away. I don't think Tony's even going to have groomsmen."  
"Oh, come on, Angela, how often do you get married? Wait, don't answer that."  
I laugh. "All right, you can be my matron of honor. I don't think Isabel would mind."

"And if she does, what am I supposed to do, thumb-wrestle her?"

"No, it'll be fine."

"Wait, what about Mona? She is your mother after all."

"I don't think she'd want to admit to being old enough to be the mother of someone getting married for the fourth time."  
"Good point."  
"Wendy, you can't tell anyone that it's my fourth wedding."

"Not even Herb, I swear. Is he invited? What about Jenny?"

"Yes, of course."

"What about Ben? You know he and Isabel have been fighting again."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But, yes, he and David are invited." I wonder if I'll have to invite Marci's whole family, too, seeing as she is going to be my other flower girl. I don't know how we'll fit all these people into a Brooklyn apartment. I hope we don't have to move it over to the church. I would feel more dishonest then. (Tony will talk to Father Marconi tomorrow night.)

"Good." She shakes her head. "Well, I'd say you're rushing into this, but I guess you're actually showing willpower. If I were legally married to Tony, I wouldn't stay out of his bed, no matter who else I was married to."

"It is a challenge at times."  
She snorts. "Yeah, I'll bet! You know, Diane Wilmington is going crazy with the news of your engagement. She kept hoping Tony was just your housekeeper and she had a shot."

"But she's married!"

"Like that matters with the Wilmingtons. Oh, and you should hear what Joanne Parker said at the market."

"What?" I'm not sure I want to know.

"She thinks it's awful for you to live in sin, even if you are engaged. Especially with small children in the home."

Well, it could've been worse. "We're not living in sin, since we're not having, you know."

"You want me to tell her that?"

"No!"

"OK, OK. Oh, and she doesn't want Tony to join the Parents' Association."

He went to half of the meeting last month. He would've stayed longer, but it was the night before my cocktail party so he couldn't stay. He wants me to go with him this month, even though I don't have a child of my own in school yet. I suppose I should as Sam's stepmother. It'll be the Thursday before Thanksgiving.

"This is Tony's community, too. She can't forbid him to join."

"No, but she can makes things uncomfortable for him."

Poor Tony. There is snobbery in Fairfield. I'm know I'm not free of it myself, although I am trying to change, for his and Sam's sake.

"What does she have against Tony? I mean besides living with me."

"He's a muscular Italian from Brooklyn who drives a rusty van."

"That's so shallow!"  
"Well, no one ever accused Joanne of being deep."

Now I'm determined to go to the meeting, to support him and Sam.

"So getting back to S-E-X."  
"Honestly, Wendy, you're like a teenager."  
"Exactly. I'm not getting some but I'd like to see my best friend get some. Now, really, the U.S. government is not going to care if you get some. You were already a bigamist because of Michael and that guy Brian overlapping. And the Feds haven't exactly arrested you yet, have they?"

"Well, no, but even if Tony and I wanted to give in early, I'd feel funny about it when his daughter thinks we're just engaged."

"You're letting a six-year-old stop you? And how's she gonna know?"

"She sleeps down the hallway!"

"So don't do it at home. You and Tony need a little getaway. Not all the way to Las Vegas. Someplace more local."

I blush. "Well, it's not local, but South Carolina is closer."

"South Carolina?"

"Um, yes." I briefly explain about the charity game. I haven't given it much thought recently, what with my promotion and everything else.

(I spent most of today in meetings. I was really looking forward to a foot massage from Tony, and of course a home-cooked meal.)

"Oh, my God! That's perfect!"

"Now, Wendy, we're just going as, well, not as friends, but I mean, I'm sure Tony will spend most of the time hanging out with his friends."

"What will you be doing? Watching television?"

(No, that was my honeymoon with Brian. I still remember the Saturday night line-up: _The Dating Game, The Newlywed Game, The Ghost & Mrs. Muir, _and then _NBC Saturday Night at the Movies,_ with a heavily edited version of _A Summer Place_ , since what you could show on a movie screen in '59 was still too racy for TV a decade later. And there I sat, a love-starved virgin.)

"Well, I suppose I'll be hanging out with 'the other wives.' "

"Ugh, it sounds worse than one of Herb's dental conventions."

I smile a little. "I'm sorry."  
"Honestly, Angela, here I have a chance to live vicariously through you, and you refuse to live up to it."  
"Well, I will be with him as his wife soon."  
"That's true. Not as illicit, but still something to look forward to. But then you never give any details."  
"Sorry."  
"Will you at least tell me the frequency?"  
"Of the television?"

"No, of the sex!"

Now heads turn.

"I'll tell you the quality, not the quantity."

"OK, I can live with that. And I'll make up the details myself."

I do feel sorry for Wendy. I'm the last person whose love life anyone should want to live vicariously through.


	34. The Old Neighborhood

It's weird being back in the old neighborhood. I guess it's even weirder that I think of it that way, when I've only been gone a month. But even when I was on the road, it was always home. And now it's not.

Angela is watching the kids tonight. I left a meal for her to reheat. She promised not to bring any work home, and she didn't.

I met her at the station, in her Jag, while Mona minded the kids for a few minutes. Angela and I had enough time to kiss and hug hello and goodbye. Then she got in the driver's seat and drove home, while I got the next train back to New York. Yeah, I could've taken the van, but that's OK. I like taking the subway, and walking around here on foot.

I go see Father Marconi first. After all, if he refuses to perform the show ceremony, I don't know what we'll do. Maybe find a less honest priest? Or get someone who doesn't know about the bigamy at least.

He's in his office, so I knock.

"Come in."  
"Father Marconi? I hope I'm not disturbing you."  
"Not at all, Anthony. How are things going in Connecticut?" He's smiling. I guess he's heard about my move, although I didn't come see him again before I left.

"Good, good. Oh, um, I've been lying about not being married to Angela."  
"I think under the circumstances, you'll be forgiven."  
"Good. Um, I'm thinking of sort of marrying her again. I mean so Sam and everyone will know that we're married."

"Is that wise when she's married to the other men?"

"Well, she's definitely divorced from one now. And the other will be done in a couple weeks. Reno."  
"Ah, yes. So when you say marrying her again, what do you mean?"

"Once she's free of everybody but me, we'd exchange vows. Unless that's sinful. I mean to lie and pretend we're not really married."

"Anthony, God looks at intentions, too, you know."  
"Well, yeah."  
"Are you still celibate? I know you're living with her."  
"Yeah, we're still celibate. I mean, we kiss and stuff, but yeah." When I was a teenager, sometimes I'd worry I'd go to Hell for second base, but I don't worry about that after all I've been through.

"Your restraint is impressive."

"Yeah, I would've made a great monk. Oh, sorry, Father."  
"It's all right, Anthony. So I take it you're not just asking my advice. You're also requesting that I officiate at this wedding."

"Yes, please. If that wouldn't put you in mortal peril."

He chuckles. "I think God will understand. There are worse sins than letting the world know that two good people are committed to each other."

"Gee, thanks!" I lean forward to shake his hand.

"You're welcome."

"It'll be Thanksgiving afternoon or evening. Does that work for you?"

"I'm free most of the day. Now go tell Mrs. Rossini so she can start crying."

I stare at him. "Are you psychic?"

He chuckles. "No, but I know you. You usually spend Thanksgiving at the Rossinis'. You probably want to have the wedding there if they don't mind. And I figured you were having it in Brooklyn, since you want me to perform it, rather than a priest or minister in Fairfield."

"Yeah. OK, I'll be in touch with the details."

"Talk to you soon, Anthony."

So it's the Rossinis' next. I deliberately didn't get a snack on the train, knowing she'd want to feed me, even uninvited.

"Tony, look at you! You're wasting away up there in Connecticut!"  
"That doesn't say much for my cooking."

"You're getting too much exercise, that must be it."

"I bet he is," says her teenage son Joe, Jr. to Joe, Sr., who snickers.

I don't tell her that I like to lift furniture when I vacuum and sweep. Yesterday I made the mistake of moving the refrigerator and what do you think I saw? "MICHAEL LOVES ANGELA" painted on the wall! I was surprised he was capable of that romantic a gesture, although of course he had to put it where almost no one could see it. If it were me, I'd carve it someplace where Angela could see it every day. I mean, once I get to the point that I'm in love with her.

"Hey, watch your mouth, Joey! Tony is living with a nice, classy lady and there ain't no hanky-panky!"

I cough. "Um, actually, we're engaged."  
"Oh!" She looks startled.

"Ain't this a little soon?" Old Joe asks. "Marie's been dead, what, seven or eight months?"

"Yeah, I know. But I want to marry this lady."

Mrs. Rossini looks torn between loyalty to Marie and delight in a wedding. The delight wins out. "Married! So are we all invited?"

"Uh, yeah, actually, um, if it won't mess up your Thanksgiving plans, could we have it here?"

"Here? In Brooklyn? In this apartment? On Thanksgiving?" asks Joe, Sr.

"Uh, yeah, if that's not too crazy—"

"What are you kiddin'?" Mrs. Rossini shrieks. "I love it! Uh, I don't have to serve all the guests, do I?"

"No, no. Just my family and Angela's. Our immediate families I mean."

"You're gettin' married!" She comes over and pinches my cheeks. "You're gonna make such a handsome groom."  
"Thanks."

"Hey, wait a minute," Joe, Sr. says, and I wish he'd shut up. "This lady ain't Italian, is she? Or even Catholic?"

"Well, no, but we are having a Catholic ceremony."

"As long as they raise the children Catholic, it's OK," Old Joe chimes in.

I decide not to say that Angela and I haven't even decided whether we'll have kids, let alone what religion they'd be.

After dinner, I excuse myself since I've got to go talk to my groomsmen. I wasn't even planning to have any, but then Angela told me how Wendy wants to be her matron of honor. So I gave Bobby G. a call and he'll be my best man. Now I've got to go talk to Philly and Tiny. Normally, I'd consider asking some of my teammates, but I can't because Davey and Mike think I'm already married to Angela, which I am, but you know what I mean.

I hope the guys aren't at Marty's. I don't feel like dealing with Theresa again. For all I know, she'd want to be a bridesmaid. Can you imagine that if all my ex-girlfriends wanted to be bridesmaids? Angela doesn't know very many single women, although she's thinking of inviting her only cousin, who's 21 and has had one date in her life. ("She makes me look like Mother in comparison," Angela said when explaining Christy's shyness.)

I decide to try the bowling alley first. I find Dennis and his girlfriend Ginger. I end up inviting them, her as a guest, but him as a groomsman. Then Philly and Tiny come in and Dennis tells them before I can. The guys tease me about rushing into marriage, especially to the uptight WASP businesswoman, but they seem happy. Happy enough to order a round of beers.

They want to give me a bachelor party, but I talk them out of it. They already gave me one when I got married the first time. And I don't think Angela would approve. I mean, not that I need her approval, but there's no point in pissing her off.

Dennis waits till Ginger goes home before asking, "So what's goin' on, Micelli? You knock her up?"

"Who?" For a moment, I think he means Ginger, who I've never even kissed.

"Your Connecticut broad," Philly says.

"No, no, we haven't even, um."

"What are you waiting for, Tony?" Tiny asks. "If you like her enough to marry her, why don't you just do her?"

"Yeah, she ain't a virgin, right?" Philly asks.

"Uh, no, she's been married before."

"Well?" they all ask.

"Listen, Guys, you know me. If that was all I was after, I could get it from almost any woman. But we're getting married on Thanksgiving, so it's not like we're waiting that long."  
"Is that why you're rushing into it? Why not just jump her and then get married later?" Philly asks.

"Or not at all," says Tiny, who was actually the first of us to get married. (His son Elvis is a year older than Sam.) He was also the first to be single again, since his good Catholic wife decided that divorce was a sacrament in this case.

"You know, I can kind of see waiting till marriage. There are times I wish I'd waited with Ginger."  
"Yeah, like when her curse is late," Philly teases.

They had a pregnancy scare this past summer. I didn't get the details since I was on the road, but they were talking marriage, until her period came. At least if that happened with Angela, well, we'd already be married anyway.

"Well, me and Ginger will get married eventually, but no hurry."

"Unlike Tony, am I right?" Tiny says, poking me in the ribs.

"So let me see if I got this," Philly says. "You're not with anyone. Not her, not any other chick."

"Right."

"How long have you gone without it?" Dennis asks.

I do the math quickly. "Um, six weeks." Since the last time with Betty.

"That's not that long," Tiny says.

"We're not talking about you," Philly says. "For Tony, that's like a record."

I don't tell them it's not. All the months Marie was sick, I didn't even want to think about sex. My wife was dying and I never wanted to be with anyone again. But as soon as she died and Betty scooped me in, well, it was a way of proving I was alive. The guilt ate at me but I did my best to ignore it.

"And she's been married before?" Dennis says. "So how long for her?"

Let's see, she was on her own for six weeks in Reno. And I guess at least a week before that, back home. Thirteen weeks total? "About three months."

"Yeah, but uptight Connecticut WASPs, especially if they're businesswomen, they can go like years without it. They sort of dry up inside."

I want to punch Philly. I want to tell him that Angela is incredibly passionate and I can't wait to really awaken her in bed. But I can't talk about the times we've made out, especially not the frottage.

I say, "I'm not worried."

"Yeah, she just needs an Italian husband," Tiny says.

And we all toast to that.


	35. Playing Mom

It's interesting playing mom to both Jonathan and Samantha, I mean in Tony's absence. Obviously, there have been times when I've looked after my son without assistance, but never anyone else's child. And I'm again reminded what a difference there is between a two-year-old and a six-year-old.

It's not that Jonathan doesn't have his own personality and interests, but he's still not very good at communicating them, while Sam is highly verbal. Also, he couldn't care less about the upcoming wedding (two weeks from tomorrow!), while it has become Sam's favorite topic.

"Do you wear white or another color because of Mr. Bower?"

"Um, I think I will wear a nice beige or yellow dress."

"Do you want me to go shopping with you or should we find something in your closet that you already have?"

I should note that despite Sam's interest in more "girly" topics lately (to Tony's confusion), she still loves sports and monster movies.

"Hm, let's go see what I have in my closet. Or maybe I can bring things down from the attic."

"Oo, can I go up there? Or is it haunted?"

"It's not haunted. But let's put Jonathan to sleep first since it's his bedtime."

"OK. Can I stay up till Daddy comes home?"

"I don't know, Sweetheart. That might be pretty late." After all, he does have to take the train back from New York. I'm just hoping that his buddies won't decide to throw him a spontaneous bachelor party.

"OK. We'll just pick a dress for you and then I'll go to sleep."

She's so grown-up in some ways. She even sings "Five Little Monkeys Swinging from a Tree" for Jonathan. It seems a little macabre, with the crocodile eating all the monkeys, but Jonathan loves it, especially the "Snap!" part.

As soon as he's asleep, I take her hand and lead her up to the attic. If I were Mother, I would know how to be just spooky enough. But I figure Sam has had enough scares in her life. (Including Michael a couple nights ago of course.) So instead I do my best to reassure her.

It helps that the attic is immaculate. It must be Tony's doing, because it was cobwebby and dusty the last time I was up here. He's even organized the Christmas decorations alphabetically!

We have fun digging through boxes for my old non-fat clothes, not that there are as many as I'd like. Then we do our best to clean up, although I'm sure Tony will say, "This place looks like a pit!" when he sees the attic again.

We take the dresses down. I grab a few more from my bedroom.

"Angela?" Sam says shyly from the doorway.

"Yes, Sweetie?"

"Um, when you get married, will Daddy sleep in here? Or will you sleep in his room?"

Someone must've told her that married people share a bed. Or maybe she's thinking of her parents.

"I think we'll sleep in here because then we can share my bathroom." Tony and I haven't discussed it, but it makes the most sense. (And I think he's only come in here to clean since I walked in on him last week.)

"Oh, OK. You don't care that he snores?"

"Well, when grown-ups really like each other, they don't mind things like that."

"Do you think I'll get married someday?"

"Yes, if you want to."

"Boys are dumb sometimes."

"Yes, but so are girls."

"Yeah."

"You'll have to grow up and find a boy who's not too dumb."

She laughs. "Then I'll be an old lady!"

I laugh, too, for reasons she can't understand.

We stagger downstairs with all the dresses we can carry. I ask if it's too much, but she says she's fine. She really does remind me in Tony in some ways.

We spread the dresses out on the couch and chairs in the living room. We narrow it down to our three favorites, not that we completely agree. Her tastes are more streamlined and, well, edgier, than my old-fashioned, frillier ones.

The first one I'll try on is the prom dress I never wore. I'd hoped to lose enough weight in time but I didn't, so I had to wear another, and then I ended up being stood up anyway. It's the sort of thing Audrey Hepburn would've worn in the early '60s, sleek and elegant, rather than the nerdy frocks I was wearing in the mid '60s. It's not in Audrey's signature color of black but instead a yellow between lemon and butter, yet softer.

I change in the downstairs bathroom. I'm surprised how good I look in the dress, although the mirror is small in here so I can't see everything. And the dress fits me perfectly, which obviously I couldn't have planned twelve years ago, and three years after kissing Anthony.

I go back out to get Sam's approval. She gasps and says, "Wow, you look super pretty!"

"Thank you, Sweetie." I look in the entryway mirror. Yes, I think this will make a fine if non-traditional wedding dress. I hope Tony will like it.

Then I hear footsteps coming up the front path. Oh, Tony is coming home sooner than I expected? Has he even had time to go to Brooklyn and back?

I peek through the curtains, but I see Joanne Parker! "Oh, no, not her!"

"Who?" Sam asks.

"It's Mrs. Parker, the President of the Parents' Association."

"Oh, no!" Sam says, but she's apparently not just annoyed on my behalf, since she dashes into the kitchen. Hm, I wonder what that's about.

Well, I'm about to find out, since Joanne knocks briskly but insistently on the door.

Feeling a little ridiculous in my prom dress but knowing there's no chance to change, I sigh and then open the door. "Why, Joanne, what a pleasant surprise!"

"Is it, Angela? Is it really?"

Oh kay. I try again. "What brings you by?"

"You really don't know?"

"Sorry, I don't."

She sighs huffily. "May I come in?"

"Of course."

She does and then double-takes at all the dresses scattered about. "What's going on?"  
"Oh, just cleaning out my closet, seeing what fits and what doesn't."  
"Oh, that explains your outfit."

"Um, yes." I take an ecru minidress (the one I wore my first day at Wallace and McQuade, before I got shyer about showing my legs) off of the nearest chair and say, "Won't you sit down?"

She looks like she resents my politeness, but she does sit. I make space for myself on the couch.

"What's this about, Joanne?"

"So your housekeeper didn't tell you?"

I'm annoyed by her referring to Tony that way, even if it is one of his roles in my life. But I just say, "No, Tony and I haven't discussed you." _Lately_ , I silently add.

"Well, it wasn't really about me. It was about Dwight, my son."

"Oh."

"You really don't know about Samantha hitting him?"

"No, I'm sorry, I don't. And I'm very sorry that that happened."

"Perhaps your housekeeper didn't think it was important. I'm sure fighting is much more common in Brooklyn."

I'm sure of that, too, but I don't think that's all that's going on here. "Yes, but I know that Tony doesn't approve of Sam fighting."  
"So she has done it before?"

Damn, I can't fight, I mean verbally fight, as well as Mother, especially against an opponent like Joanne. The best I can do is ask, "Why didn't the teacher put a stop to it?"

"It happened on the walk home."

"Oh. Do you know what provoked it?"

"Are you blaming my son? The victim? 'Little' Samantha is almost a year older than he is and probably ten pounds heavier."

I doubt there's that much weight difference. Despite growing up on Italian cooking, there isn't any excess on Sam's trim little body. Not with all her energy.

"No, I'm not blaming Dwight, I'm just wondering how the fight started."

"I don't think it matters why she hit him. And it wasn't exactly a fight. I've told Dwight to never hit girls and to walk away from fights anyway."

I agree with that and will raise Jonathan the same way, but I hate agreeing with Joanne. "Thank you for letting me know about this, Joanne. I will talk to Sam about it."  
"Isn't that more her father's job?"

"He's not here right now." I almost say that he's in Brooklyn, checking with his friends on our wedding, but I know what a can of worms that would be.

"Oh? Well, I suppose he does deserve a night off every once in awhile."

On the surface, the words are harmless if a bit snobbish, but I catch the undertone, meaning that he needs a night off from my bed.

"Yes, he does. He works very hard. And I'm happy to take care of Sam, especially since she's my, she's going to be my stepdaughter."

"So you really are marrying your housekeeper? It's not just a rumor?"

"No, it's not just a rumor. I'm sorry we can't invite you to the wedding, Joanne, but the guest list is full."

"I'm sure I'll be busy that day."

"Yes, you are quite the busybod— busy woman, aren't you? Thank you for taking the time to tell me about Samantha."

She looks taken aback at my dismissing her, but she's clearly said most of what she came here to say. And we will meet again, at the Parents' Association meeting next week.

"Well, goodnight then," she says, getting to her feet.

"Goodnight, Joanne. Lovely to see you, as always."

When I close the door behind her, I feel proud of myself for standing up to her but in a polite way. Then I remember that I have to talk to Sam. I could wait till Tony gets home, but I am the parent tonight and it's up to me.

I find her sitting at the kitchen table, eating Halloween candy. (She must've found one of Tony's hiding places. I haven't been able to find them since the first night.) She jumps guiltily when I come in, and I know it's not just because of the candy.

I sit down and she silently offers me a Mini Mars Bar.

"Thank you."  
"Welcome."

"So, Sam, how's kindergarten going?"

"Oh, I love my teacher, she's so nice! And some of the kids are nice, too."

"Some of them? Not all of them?"

"Um, no, but Dad says that life is like that, not everybody's nice, but you have to get along with everyone."

"Yes. But some people are harder to get along with than others, aren't they?"

She nods fervently. "But I have tried!"

"I know, Sweetie. But I do need to ask you. Did you hit Dwight Parker?"

She scowls. "Yeah, I hit him," she mutters.

"But, why, Sam?"

"He says bad things."

"I know it's not nice when people say bad things about you, but you can't hit them."  
"It wasn't about me."

"Oh." Even before she explains, I know where this is going.

She whispers, "He said his mom says you and Daddy do dirty things together."

"She said that to him?" I whisper back.

"No, he heard her talking to her friend. He didn't understand all of it, but he said you and Daddy are bad people and 'a disgrace to the neighborhood.' "

That sounds like Joanne's phrasing. I hate the idea that she's spreading her poison where a five-year-old child can hear it and repeat it to a six-year-old. Maybe even to their classmates!

"It's not true, is it?" She looks at me tearfully.

"Oh, Sweetie!" I hug her. "No, it's not true." Even if Tony and I had made love by now, it would not be dirty or bad. I think it would be lovely. But of course I can't say that to his daughter. I don't even know if she knows where babies come from. Would Marie have told her? I can't imagine Tony finding the words. And Mrs. Rossini would probably talk about storks or cabbage patches or whatever they say in the Italian culture.

"Why do people say mean things?"

"Sometimes they think it's funny. Or they feel bad about themselves and they try to feel better about themselves by making other people feel bad."

"Yeah, like when I hit Dwight, I felt better at first. But then I felt bad because I knew Daddy would be dispointed."

"Did you tell him?"

She shakes her head and pulls away. "He wants me to love Fairfield and get along with everyone."

So much pressure to put on a little girl! Although I know Tony means well.

"Do you like Fairfield and get along with some people?"

"Oh, yes! I miss Brooklyn and my friends, but I like Marci and you and Jonathan and Mrs. Robinson."

"Good."

"Angela," she says shyly, "I feel bad, a different kind of bad I mean, because I think I'm starting to love you. Do you think Mommy is jealous in Heaven?"

"Oh, Darling!" I kiss the top of her head, the same brown hair as Marie's. "No, your mommy loved you so much that she wants you to have all the love you can get."

"Oh, good." She sounds relieved.

"I think I'm starting to love you, too."

"Good." She snuggles back up against me.

Why is it so easy with Sam, and so difficult to say these things to her father? Why is grown-up love so complicated?

I eat my Mars bar and she smiles.


	36. A Moment to Register

I look up from the register and smile. I never thought I'd sign that again: _"Mr. and Mrs. Anthony Micelli."_

But Angela doesn't smile back. Instead, she takes the pen and adds something. I look. It now reads, _"Mr. and Mrs. Anthony and Angela Micelli."_ I can live with that. At least she didn't put in her maiden name. But then she hasn't been Angela Robinson for a very long time, longer than she once realized.

Now she smiles. "It's all about compromise."

I nod.

We get our room key and head for the elevator. I want to unpack before I face the guys.

In the elevator, she squeezes my arm and whispers, "I can't believe we're here!"

"Me either." I mean both that I can't believe that we're going to spend the weekend in a hotel and that we actually made it here.

There was so much that could've gone wrong with the plan. Well, it didn't help when Mona waited till yesterday to say that she had lots of dates this weekend and couldn't spend the whole time babysitting. Angela and I discussed different options, but we decided to ask Pop to do it. He's good with kids and it was worth the risk of introducing him to Mona. After all, we can't keep them apart forever.

I called Pop and luckily he didn't have any dates this weekend. Then I reluctantly decided to call Dennis, because I needed someone who would drive Pop up from Brooklyn and then me down to Manhattan, and then me and Angela to JFK. And Bobby Governale is still on the road.

Yeah, Pop could've taken the train up and I could've taken the train down, and then Angela and I could've taken a taxi, but it all would've taken much longer. Plus, we had to factor in the luggage for the weekend.

Luckily, Dennis said sure, although I did have to take some teasing, on the phone and then on the way to Manhattan, about my "wild weekend" in Charleston with my fiancée. Still, he was better than Philly or Tiny would've been, less crude. And he behaved in front of Mona, the kids, and Angela.

As for Pop meeting Mona, well, first he met Jonathan, who was a little shy at first but seemed to warm up when he found out that this was my father. It helps that Pop and I look alike. (I really look like his father, who died when I was 13 and helped raise me after my mom died.)

"Big Tony," Jonathan said, meaning I think, "Older Tony."

"Yeah, but you can call me Matty."  
"Gwandpa?" Jonathan said hesitantly.

Pop smiled. "Yeah, Grandpa." After all, he is Jonathan's step-grandfather, although Sam still calls Mona "Mrs. Robinson" out of respect. We might revisit that after the wedding.

Sam looked a little jealous over sharing her grandfather, especially since Nick hadn't been nearly this friendly with Jonathan. But Pop asked her for a tour of the house, and she proudly took him all over, even to the attic!

That was when Mona showed up.

"I thought you had a date," I whispered.

"That's later. My, your father is remarkably well preserved," she said, waving at Dennis, who was watching TV with Jonathan, since neither of them wanted the tour.

Dennis snorted. "Well, I am six months older than Tony."

"Mona, Dennis. Dennis, Mona."

"I've heard so much about you," Dennis said as he got to his feet and came over to shake her hand.

"All bad I hope?"

He laughed. I hadn't actually said much about her, although Dennis had questions on the way to Manhattan. And Bobby's usually not the type to kiss and tell (not even much to me), so I don't know if he'd kissed and told.

Then Pop and Sam came up from the basement. Sam loudly whispered, "Grandpa, that's Jonathan's grandmother, even though she doesn't look like a grandmother."

"Grandmothers can look all kinds of ways," he said, "including beautiful."

"So that's where you get your charm, Batman," Dennis teased me.

"And your looks," Mona said, managing to tease me and flirt with Pop simultaneously.

"I don't know. Some people think Anthony looks like his mother."

"Yeah, OK, we'll get out the family albums later," I said, not wanting this to go on. "I've got a flight to catch."

"Bye, Daddy!" Sam threw her arms around me, so I scooped her up into a spinning hug. "Have fun with Angela!"

I did my best to glare preventatively at Dennis and Mona while I was spinning, but it was Pop who winked at me.

When we stopped, I set Sam down and looked at Jonathan. And, God, he was crying!

"Tony go?"

We'd tried to explain to him that his mom and I were going away for a couple days, but I don't think it'd occurred to him till then that I was leaving. It's the first time I'll have been gone overnight since I moved in. (I got back late when I went to Brooklyn a couple days ago, but I did sleep here, although Pop offered to let me sleep on his couch.)

I went over to the couch and wiped his eyes with my handkerchief. "Tony will be back. So will Mommy."

I heard Dennis snicker, but I ignored it. Wait till he has kids, he'll understand.

"Toy?"

"Uh, yeah, we can bring you back a toy from our trip."

"Me, too, Daddy?"

"Yeah, sure." So now we've got to be on the lookout for souvenirs for the kids. Maybe I'll get Sam a baseball signed by the whole team. She always likes stuff like that. I don't know what to get for Jonathan, but maybe Angela will have some ideas.

I hugged Jonathan goodbye and then Sam wanted to go to the airport, but Pop asked to borrow her markers and some paper so he and Mona could draw up some kind of schedule for this weekend, so it seemed a good time to make my exit.

In the car, Dennis said, "You're like a family. I mean you and the kids."

"Yeah."  
"So this isn't just about the woman?"

"No. But I wouldn't have had the family without the woman." I wished I could explain to him that this all started with what I thought was a one-night stand in Vegas and now it's grown into all this, and it'll grow into even more. But I just couldn't see telling him about the bigamy.

"Hm. Sounds like you and this woman need to get to some serious baby-making of your own."

"Let us finish blending our families first, OK?"

"Hey, it looks like Matty and your hot mother-in-law want to do some blending of their own."

They wouldn't fool around in the house, would they? Let's hope that they actually focus on their grandchildren this weekend.

"Hey, relax. If you and your woman can keep your hands off each other, I think Matty and Mrs. Robinson can."

I did not find this comforting.

Dennis was a gentleman in front of Angela at least. She said she was glad to meet another of my friends. He said, "Wait till the wedding."

We met up at Sweeney's. She's still not ready for me to show up at her work, although she's going to have to tell them about her remarriage. I think she's hoping to put it off till after the honeymoon.

Oh yeah, the honeymoon. So we've decided to fly out the night of the wedding, leaving the kids with Pop in Brooklyn, with some help from Mrs. Rossini, although Angela is a little nervous about that. Mrs. Rossini and Pop love the idea of course. And I think Mona is relieved that she won't have to do any babysitting. Sam is excited about showing Jonathan around Brooklyn, although I don't know what a toddler would get out of the experience, to be honest.

And we're going to Vegas again. It started out as a joke and then we figured why not. We meant to have our wedding night, I mean a real wedding night, there when this all got started, so why not this time? We're even going to stay at the Sahara again. And she's promised to go hear Tom Jones or Wayne Newton or whoever's performing. Not that we'll be leaving our room much of course.

Dennis did get silly at the airport. He pretended to cry and begged for me to bring him back a toy. Angela watched in confused amusement.

I waited until we were in the air before I told her about the scene at the house when I left. Now she was just amused.

I knew from before that she's always a little nervous about flying, especially during take-off. She's fine when the plane levels out and when it descends. This time, I held her hand and said, "You're with me. Nothing bad can happen." I tried not to think of saying that to Marie when I held her hand at the hospital.

It didn't help that the in-flight movie was _Airport '77_. We refused the headphones and instead whispered to each other.

"Tony, get my mind off it. Let's talk about something else."

"Sam told me she helped you pick out your wedding dress." The story was kind of garbled, not as much as if Jonathan told it, but I wasn't clear if this was at a bridal shop or what.  
Angela smiled sweetly, in a way I'd never seen before. "Yes, it'll be the something old. An old dress of mine, but nice. Never worn."

"I bet you look beautiful in it."

She blushed. "She said I looked 'super pretty.' "

"I know you did. I can't wait to see it."

"What are you going to wear?"

"The tux I just bought."

"You're not going to rent? I know you did last time."

"Last time I was a nineteen-year-old kid who was eloping. Besides, I need a tux for the banquet anyway."

"The banquet?"

"Yeah, tomorrow night, after the game. Dinner and dancing."

"Oh, I wish you'd told me."

"I thought I did."

"It's all right. I'll buy something in Charleston. Maybe I can go shopping with the other wives."

"Well, some of the guys are bachelors."

"Oh. So who will I be hanging out with?"

"The wives and girlfriends I guess."

"Like Betty?"

"She might be there." I hope she's not.

"Lovely."

"OK, let's talk about something else."

"Sam hit Dwight Parker!" she suddenly blurted out.  
"What the hell!" I shouted.

"Is everything all right, Sir?" a stewardess asked.

"Yeah, sorry." I dropped back to a whisper and asked, "When did this happen?"

"Wednesday. Joanne told me while you were in Brooklyn."  
"Oh. Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"You got back so late, and then you had to make all those phone calls last night, and I don't know. I guess I was hoping Sam would confess."

I shook my head. "That's not how kids work, Angela."  
"OK, I'm sorry."  
"It's not your fault. I'm sorry you had to deal with this on your own."  
"She's sort of my kid, too, Tony."  
I kissed her cheek for that. And then, as calmly as I could, I asked for details about it. Poor Sam. I mean, yeah, she dealt with it wrong, but she should not have been put in the situation of having to defend my reputation, or Angela's. And, yeah, the irony of it all, when we've been trying to resist being, well, dirty and bad.

"What should we do?"

"Well, I encouraged Sam to apologize to Dwight. But I don't think it'll be enough. Joanne already disliked you."  
"Me? What's wrong with me?"

"You're not very Fairfield."  
"Is that a crime?"

"I'm sorry, Tony."

I shook my head. "I've been doing my best to fit in, and let's face it, this hasn't exactly been a cakewalk."

"I know, Darling, I know. But I think you have to be proud of who you are."

I looked at her in surprise. Even though I don't think she's tried to change me, there are times that I feel like she doesn't approve of my van or the way I talk or other things about me.

She misunderstood my surprise. "I know, that sounds funny coming from someone as insecure as I am."

"For someone so insecure, you sure have accomplished a lot."

"Thank you."

We kissed. I wanted to keep kissing her but we were on a plane and people were trying to watch the movie. I'd never seen it before. I saw the first one, in '70, but it seems like they're all the same. A disaster hits a plane full of celebrities. Even without the dialogue, we could pretty much follow along.

It turned out that the movie was longer than the flight. Angela saw it in the theater and she said it runs close to two hours. They must've shown an edited for television version or something, because it only took us an hour and a half to get to Charleston. It took me longer than that to get from Fairfield to the airport.

And here we are at the hotel. I almost wish that we weren't here for the game, but that's selfish. This is a good cause and we'll be alone in a hotel in Vegas in a couple weeks.

When we get to our room, I ask, "You want me to carry you over the threshold?"

"Let's wait for our honeymoon. Besides, if any of your teammates see us, they think we're already married. Well, you know what I mean."

"Right." So I just unlock the door and say, "After you."

She steps in and says, "Very nice."

I hardly notice anything but the bed, and the couch. Good, I won't have to sleep on the floor. But, mmm, that bed looks inviting.

She goes to the window and looks out. "Oh, Tony, we have a view of the water!"

I go over and look. It's not like I've never seen the Atlantic before, but it's an excuse to put my arms around her. She snuggles up against me.

"I almost wish you didn't have to do all the baseball things," she admits. "I mean, I know it's for a good cause and you'll get to see your friends, but—"

"No, I know."

She turns and kisses me. But then she says, "Tony, I think—"

I don't find out what she thinks, because that's the moment when someone knocks on the door and Mike says, "It's the manager. You're in the honeymoon suite and no one's heard any noises yet. What's not going on in there?"


	37. Wife and or Girlfriend

**Author's Note: The players and their wives/girlfriends are either fictional or have been modified for the purposes of this story. In fact, GoldenGirlSherry named one couple, without my providing her a description, as her "prize" for posting the 100th review on this story. Thanks, Sherry!**

...

"No, sorry, I don't knit."

They all look at me like I'm crazy and I'm starting to almost wish that I was sitting with Betty and other groupies. But this is girlfriends and wives only. Holly is one of the wives. She's married to the star pitcher, Craig Murphy, and is very heavily pregnant with their fourth child.

"But don't you have kids?" she asks.

"Well, yes. I mean, I have my son and Tony has his daughter. My stepdaughter."

"Well, wait till you're pregnant again. You can take up knitting then."

I want to explain that Tony and I haven't even agreed on if or when we'd have children together, but it certainly wouldn't be till everyone is truly settled in. Our children are still adjusting to each other, and another child would just complicate things right now. Especially since it would biologically belong to both of us and that might cause some sibling rivalry. Not to mention, I just became a vice-president and have to prove myself at that.

"Yeah, you know Italians," says Carly, the fiancée of Bob Coluccio. "Tony's going to want molti bambini."

They all laugh at that.

"Hey, with a looker like Tony," says Virginia, Lou Brock's second wife, "at least she'll have fun getting pregnant."

They laugh a lot at that.

I try to just seem like I'm a shy new bride and not alienate them by going on a feminist rant about how I don't necessarily want molti bambini and I have my own identity apart from my marriage to Tony. The irony of course is that after a month and a half of marriage, we still haven't done anything that might get me pregnant.

However, well, there are two things I plan to tell Tony this weekend and would've brought up if his teammates hadn't interrupted us before we could even unpack. One is that I brought my diaphragm, just in case. And the other is that I think I'm in love with him.

I know that that second thing wouldn't surprise some people, my mother among them, but I've been thinking about it ever since my talk with Sam. Just in the short time that Tony and I have been together, we've shared so much. And my love for Sam is connected to my love for him. It's not just that I think the four of us make a wonderful family, although I do. I also love the man that Tony is, differences and all.

He's warm and sensitive, but also playful and witty. And, OK, he's gorgeous. That wouldn't be enough in itself but it is a factor. I have to be honest about that. And then, I think we're physically compatible. Even without actual sex, I know how he makes me feel when we touch, when we kiss, when we dance. I never felt like that with Michael.

No, we haven't worked everything out, but I think we can grow together, rather than grow apart as Michael and I did. I'm only four and a half years older than I was when I married Michael, but I've learned so much. And Tony has learned things from his happy years with Marie, as well as the pain of losing her.

"Aww, look at the look on her face," teases Carly. "She must be thinking about Tony."  
I blush.

They're very nice women really. I just don't feel like we have much in common. Even the ones that work don't have high-powered careers. When I admit to working in advertising, they think I just write jingles. Which, yes, is part of it, but just part.

I can't really relate to most of the women back in Fairfield either. I'm finding myself grateful that Isabel is in med school, because soon she'll know what it's like to have a time-consuming, stressful career. I won't be alone anymore, among all those women who brag about "not having to work." Wendy doesn't brag. She makes jokes about her life, like an upper-middle-class Erma Bombeck.

Holly starts describing the knitting pattern, and I try to pay attention, just in case. Who knows? Maybe I could knit, whether or not I got pregnant. It's supposed to be relaxing, right? Knitting I mean, not getting pregnant.

The pattern is in Cardinals colors, red and white, and can be adapted to hats, mittens, scarves, or even sweaters. Holly takes out a hat she's brought as a sample and playfully puts it on my head. The women say I look cute in it.

"Oh, it's the O-Girls!" exclaims Susan, wife to Keith Hernandez.

"Really? I thought maybe they were celebrating Halloween late," says Bambi, Mike's new girlfriend.

I turn and see a group of women coming into the hotel restaurant, all wearing orange and black. I can't tell if Bambi was being catty or playing dumb.

We're not in matching outfits and this makes the Orioles' wives and girlfriends sneer at us. I feel like I'm back in high school and the world of cliques.

"It's OK, Ladies," Carly whispers when the "O-Girls" sit at a distant table. "We'll outdo them at the banquet tomorrow night."

"Yeah, we are a fine bunch of babes, if I do say so myself," Virginia says.

"Angie," Bambi asks, "what are you wearing to the banquet?"

"Um, I need to go shopping actually."

This completely wins them over. As soon as we finish eating, Susan, who's been to Charleston before, loads us all in a cab and we go to a dress shop that stays open late. I feel like I'm back with Sam in the living room as they assess what would and wouldn't look good on me, although with more sophisticated tastes than a kindergartner of course.

"The problem is, Angela looks good in a lot of different colors," Virginia sighs in frustration.

The others agree. I'm not used to this, even when I shop with Wendy and Isabel.

"I know!" Carly exclaims, clapping her hands. "A little black dress!"

"Totally!" Bambi squeals. "She's got the long legs for it."

I want to say that I rarely wear little black dresses, although I do own one or two. But they find one that they insist I try on. So I do and they react like I'm a movie star on the red carpet.

"He'll have her pregnant by the end of the weekend," Holly says, patting her stomach for emphasis.

Nonetheless, I buy the dress. I want to look good for Tony, make him proud. And also, I want to be attractive when and if I confess my love. And, well, if I end up using the diaphragm, then that is definitely a dress that could get him into bed.

I know, I know, we can't. I'm still married to Brian, and Tony and I agreed to wait. But if I'm honest with myself, I don't want Tony sleeping on the couch tonight. Or, well, he can sleep there after he spends some awake time in the bed.

Oh God, I can't believe I just thought that! I'm as bad as Mother sometimes.

He isn't back yet when I return. I hope he's not out drinking all night. I know he wants to spend some time with his friends, but I was hoping he and I could spend time together, too, and not just in bed. Maybe we could catch the Late Late Show on TV, although I'm getting sleepy.

I unpack, carefully hiding the black dress at the bottom of my drawer. Then I get into bed and read _Pride and Prejudice_ for the umpteenth time. Talk about your opposites attract! Darcy and Lizzy get off on the wrong foot in the beginning and it's far from love at first sight. I'm glad Tony and I have never seriously miscommunicated, despite how different we are.

I do relate to having an embarrassing mother who takes far too much interest in her daughters' love lives. At least Mother has her own suitors to distract her, unlike Mrs. Bennet, who has to settle for hypochondria rather than nymphomania. Oh God, I can't believe I just thought that, too! I knew I shouldn't have had white wine with dinner.

At least I'm not nearly as drunk as the first time I spent the night in a hotel with Tony. But I think I will take a nap till he gets back, whenever that is.


	38. Il Vitello

It feels good to play, knowing that Angela's watching. Maybe she can come to some of my games next season, at least the ones in the Northeast. She could bring Sam and maybe Jonathan.

I like looking up into the stands, spotting her in the red sweater and white jeans, seeing her sweet smile. When I catch or hit the ball, she beams. And when I miss, she looks so sympathetic. She's probably not picking up on the finer points of the game, but she seems to have the general idea.

We're playing for the Army Emergency Relief, which has been around since '42. The Birds are playing for the Armed Services YMCA. Both good causes. And the runner-up will get some money, just not as much.

There's some friendly competition, not just between the teams but between our women. And, oh, wow, is that my shy wife leading cheers for "the Wild Cards"?

"When we play, we play real hard, Don't you bet against the Cards!"

"Oh-ay, ay-oh, the O's have got to go!"

That one especially makes me grin. OK, it's not exactly Emily Dickinson but it's pretty good for on the spot. I wonder if the other Cardinals women know that Angela is one of the top ad execs in the country. She said she had a good time hanging out with them last night, but I'm guessing she didn't talk much about her career.

She was asleep when I got back around midnight from the poker game in Davey's room, her reading glasses and a Jane Austen book on the bedspread. I set them on the nightstand and kissed her cheek, but she kept sleeping. She even slept through me unpacking my pajamas. I changed in the bathroom and then slept on the couch, trying not to think about how tempting it was to slip in between the sheets. Not even to fool around, just to sleep next to her. I hate that the one time I have so far, I was passed out drunk. Well, it's less than two more weeks before we are unquestionably legal.

We both slept in and then we didn't have much chance to talk before it was time to get ready for the brunch. Everyone was invited, Cards and Birds alike.

We're actually pretty evenly matched but I, all the Cards, feel lucky today. I won't give you a play by play, but we win, 8-5. And the best part of winning, besides helping the veterans of course, is seeing Angela blow me kisses from the stands. And then she leads the Wild Cards in singing a version of "Bye, Bye, Birdie" which actually manages to rhyme "Baltimore" three times.

We have the rest of the afternoon free, so we call home to check in with the kids, and whichever of our parents is sitting with them now. At least there's no time difference to factor in, like the three hours between Nevada and Connecticut, when Angela called Mona all those weeks ago.

Sam is thrilled that we won, although she says she knew we would. Jonathan is just happy to hear our voices. And Mona (yeah, it's her turn to babysit) asks, "So how's the hotel? Comfortable floors?"

"I slept on the couch," I say irritably. I wish she wouldn't say stuff like that in front of the kids, even if they're too little to understand.

"Mother, where's Matty?"

"He's gone to the store to buy the ingredients for linguine alle vongole."  
"Mother, why didn't you tell him Jonathan won't eat shellfish?"

"This is for me and him. The kids are getting Spaghettios. You know what they say about clams."

I can practically hear her wink through the phone. And in the background, I can hear Sam singing, "Uh oh, Spaghettios!" With Jonathan doing "Uh oh" back-up.

I don't know if Pop is actually serving the kids stuff out of a can while preparing fine dining for Mona. By this point, I've learned to take everything she says with a grain of salt. If she thinks it'll make a better story, she doesn't care whether or not it's true.

"Sounds wonderful, Mother," Angela says in this voice I've noticed she only uses with Mona, weary and cynical. Well, maybe she uses it at work, too. Her voice around me is usually softer, sweeter.

"And what are you two doing for dinner? I hope you're taking Angela out on the town, Tony, like a good fiancé."

"Actually, there's a banquet tonight."

"With dancing afterwards," Angela adds, and I smile at her, thinking of how good it'll be to hold her in my arms on a dancefloor again.

She smiles back, and since we hang up soon after, we keep our heads close and melt into a kiss. Mmm!

"What do you want to do till the banquet?" I ask, my voice huskier than I mean it to be.

"Um."  
"Remember, we're only pretending to be married."

"Let's go see the sights."

So we do. It's probably for the best that we stay out of the hotel room as much as possible. We are trying to get through this weekend with our celibacy intact.

We go to Fort Sumter and some of the plantations and gardens, although obviously mid-November isn't the best time to see the flowers. Still, it's warmer than Connecticut of course. And it's just nice to be with her, holding her hand. We don't get to do this too often. And we buy stuffed animals to bring back to the kids, a loggerhead sea turtle (state reptile) for Jonathan and a Boykin spaniel (state dog) for Sam.

Then it's time to go back to the hotel to get ready for the banquet. She changes in the bathroom while I change in the bedroom. I kind of wish we were going out on the town, without all my teammates and everybody. Not to brag, but I look pretty good in this tux.

"Wow!" Angela gasps when she comes in again. I start to grin at her reflection over my shoulder, and then I get a really good look at her and my mouth falls open in surprise and then awe.

She's in a little black dress which is perfectly molded to her every line and curve, and it's short enough to make her legs look endlessly long. Now I really want to take her out and show her to the world, but I also really want to take her to bed and not leave till they kick us out of the hotel.

"Um, you look nice."  
"So do you," she says quietly, fiddling with one of her earrings.

"That's not the wedding dress, is it?"

She laughs. "No, I bought it last night and, if it were, it would be bad luck for you to see me in it now."

"Yeah, right. Uh, I hope it's not bad luck for you to see this tux."

"No, I, I think it'll be fine. It gives me something to look forward to."  
"Yeah, me, too. I mean, uh."  
"We should go to the banquet."

"Right." I swallow and then offer her my arm. As she takes it, I look at us in the mirror together. "We're a very cute couple, you know."

She smiles. "Hm, now that you mention it."

"Let's go make an entrance."

The thing is, no one really cares when we enter the banquet hall. I mean, they wave but they're all wrapped up in their conversations. I feel a little deflated, but Angela looks amused.

We find our seats and look at the menu. Of the three possible entrées, I'm leaning towards veal.

"I've never really liked veal," she says.

"Really? I love it, not that I got to eat it much growing up, since it's so expensive and takes a lot of work. Maybe that's part of why I like it now. Also, my Grandfather Micelli used to say, 'Assaporare il vitello,' which means 'Savor the veal.' He meant enjoy the good moments in your life, no matter how rare."

She smiles. "Then maybe I'll try it again."

So I order veal for us both. And she ends up liking it more than she remembered.

"I'll make it for you sometime."  
"And what will you serve the children?"

"Alphabet soup. Nutritious and educational."

She laughs. I love to make her laugh.

After dinner, we all adjourn to the ballroom. The first song is a slow dance, which is not a problem, except of course that I don't want to get too turned on holding my sexy wife in my arms. Yeah, I do my best to think about baseball.

At the end of the song, Mike's girlfriend Bambi leans over and whispers something to Angela. Angela says, "Excuse us, we have to go to the restroom."

"Hurry back," I say, while Mike says, "Why is it they can never go alone?"

I shrug and try not to noticeably ogle Angela from behind.

After the girls go, I'm disappointed because the next song is "On Broadway." I was hoping to dance that with Angela again, sober this time.

"Well, it looks like your old dancing partner arrived just in time." Mike nudges me.

I turn and see Betty Randall in a white dress like the one Marilyn Monroe wore in _The Seven Year Itch._

"Sorry I'm late."

I swallow. "Uh, that's OK."

"May I have this dance, Batman?"


	39. Loggerheads

If only Bambi hadn't needed a tampon, or if I didn't have one in my purse, in case of emergencies. (My period isn't due for another few days, but things happen.) Or if she had just asked someone else. But I was "the Wild Card" (our name for the Cardinals Ladies' Auxiliary) standing closest to her at the end of the slow song, and I did feel sorry for her.

"Thanks, Angela! You're a life-saver!" she said from her stall a minute later.

"Happy to help." And I was.

But then when we returned to the dancefloor, I couldn't believe my eyes. Not only was Betty there but she was dancing at Tony! I don't know how else to describe it. It was bad enough when he just stood there, but then he started to dance back, their bodies swaying together. And it was to "On Broadway," which is sort of "our song," even if I don't remember dancing to it too well. It would've been so nice to be sober and to have it as a lovely memory. Now I never want to hear that song again!

I don't think Bambi had ever seen Betty before, since she hasn't been dating Mike that long. But you wouldn't have to know Tony and Betty's history to know that this was bad news. She put her hand on my arm and said, "I know."

I didn't want her sympathy. And I didn't want anyone to see my humiliation. Well, Tony's friends probably didn't see anything wrong. They were egging Tony and Betty on, like his "wife" wouldn't know or care.

I wanted to run out of the room. I wanted to moon Tony like I mooned Kenny Bigelow when he stood me up for prom and took another girl. But I decided to go over there and let Tony know I saw them but I was going to be mature about it.

"Angela, what are you doing?" hissed Carly, who had also come over.

But I made my way across the dancefloor. I tapped Tony's shoulder.

"Angela!"

"Sorry to interrupt, but I'm going to bed. I have a sudden headache."

"Oh, I'm almost done with him, Sugar."  
"No hurry."  
"Angie, wait!"

I knew everyone was watching. Maybe some people felt sorry for me, and maybe some thought it was entertaining. But I didn't care. I was going to go upstairs and pack. I'd take a taxi to the airport and see if I could get a standby to New York.

And after that? Well, I guess I would have to send Sam and Matty back to Brooklyn, much as it would break my heart to say goodbye to that little girl. But I can't continue this farce of a marriage anymore. It's not fair to anyone, including Tony. He's always going to have his head turned by some pretty girl. And he's been a bachelor only seven or eight months, I mean if you don't count marrying me. He's clearly not ready to settle down again. It was unfair to expect that of him, even if it was his idea. Well, OK, it was his priest's idea. And my mother's.

I wonder if I should call her. No, she'd just try to talk me out of it. I'll wait till I get back to JFK. Then it'll be too late to change my mind.

When I return to the room, I wonder if I should change first before packing, but I don't want to waste any time. I can change while I'm waiting for my flight. And, yes, what a waste of a little black dress.

Tony looked so handsome tonight! I don't want to think of how he took my breath away, especially when I first saw him in the black tux. Still him, still muscular, but sleek and elegant. I thought we matched. But then he got his seven-week itch. (Well, seven weeks on this coming Thursday.)

As I hurl clothes into my suitcase, I'm grateful that I didn't make either confession this weekend. It would've been so much worse, so much more humiliating, especially if he knew that I love him. I mean loved him. Yes, it's possible that he wouldn't have been tempted by Betty if he knew, but we're married. We're engaged! We're living together! Isn't that enough?

And, yes, I know they were "just dancing," but I do know their history, and that was no ordinary dance anyway. Not if Bambi reacted to it like she did. It wasn't just that I was groundlessly jealous.

I decide to at least change to flats. I'm not running through the airport in my high heels. Suddenly, I picture a commercial with OJ Simpson promoting Hertz in heels and I let out a giggle. Then I scowl. I hate athletes! If I ever see another jock after this weekend, I'll spit in his face!

I realize I need to take Jonathan's stuffed animal. I don't want Tony to have an excuse to come to the house. I'll leave Sam's doggie for Tony to take. But as I'm packing the loggerhead turtle, Tony comes in. Damn, now I can't run away.

"How's your headache?"

"It's back."

He shakes his head and then he notices the suitcase. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're running out on me because I danced with an old girl— an old friend."

"Bingo." I slip the other shoe on and grab my room key. "Should I turn this in or do you want to give it to Betty?"

"Angie, this isn't like you."

"No?" I set the key on top of the dresser. "Well, maybe I'm tired of being the me that overlooks things like this."

"You overlook? What about me with Michael and Brian and Grant?"

"You're right. Clearly, neither of us is ready for a real commitment." OK, nothing happened with Brian and I've done my best to discourage Grant, but what was I doing kissing Michael like that, after all that had happened with Tony in Vegas and beyond? Neither of us is a saint. Not that that makes this OK.

"No, Angela, that's not what I meant! I know nothing really happened there. I'm just sayin'—"

"I get your point, Tony. Obviously, you would rather be with Betty than me this weekend, and I'm giving you the freedom to do that. And the best part is you can do whatever you want with her, and you won't be guilty of bigamy."

"I don't want to do anything with her! I want to be with you! You're the only one I want to be with!"

I cross my arms. "Oh, and why is that?"

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!"

I stare at him. "What did you say?"

"What did you hear?" He looks more shocked than I am.

More sadly than I ever imagined saying it, I whisper, "I love you, Tony. But I don't think it's enough. I don't think you love me the way I need to be loved."  
"What the hell does that mean?"

"I need to be loved with devotion and intensity."

"Oh, Woman, be careful what you wish for!"

"What?"

He comes closer. "If it wasn't illegal, I would prove my love for you like no one has ever proved it before."

I want to say that sex and love aren't the same thing, but I think they could be for us. And I know suddenly that whatever he feels for Betty, love has no part in it. And I also know that I want physical, tangible proof of his love.

"Screw Uncle Sam!" I blurt out.

He grins. "What did you say?"

I blush but I explain. "Tony, we're in a hotel filled with people who think we're, um, active with each other anyway. So who's going to know?"

"God will know," he says very seriously, and I wonder if his Catholic guilt has suddenly kicked in. Then he adds, "And I will calling 'Oh, God!' the whole way through."

I giggle. "You're cute when you're sacrilegious."

"Thanks. Anyway, I think God would understand. You never had sex with Brian and in no shape or form are you going to be unfaithful to him. And you are my wife, so maybe it's time I treated you like it."  
"Are you sure?"  
"If you are, yeah."

I still have doubts but I think I will have more regrets if we don't finally give in, not just to our urges, but to our emotions.

"It's OK," he says. "I'm not 100% sure either. But what have we got to lose?"

I almost say, "Everything! Each other, each other's child, each other's parent, and the home we've made." But instead I fling my arms around him and kiss him deeply.

He reluctantly untangles me and says, "OK, Angie, I've got to go get a condom from one of the guys. We can't go back to Connecticut with you pregnant. But I'll be back as soon as I can."

"It's OK. I packed my diaphragm."  
He stares at me. "You did?"

"Um, just in case."

He shakes his head. "Any other surprises you got for me?"

My voice gets deep and sexy in a way that no one can bring out in me but him. "You'll see."


	40. Not from Baltimore

I bounce my leg nervously as I wait for Angela to come out of the bathroom. I've never felt like this before, not even when I lost my virginity a decade ago.

In a way, I wish we'd fallen into bed, that I'd just grabbed her when the emotions were most intense. But, no, we always have to talk and second-guess ourselves.

Or what if I'd been suave and smooth, seducing her while I was in my tux? Well, I'm still wearing most of the outfit, but I took off the jacket because I was starting to sweat. Sweating in November. OK, it's the South but still.

This is it, this is really it. Bigamy aside, this is a big effing deal, no pun intended.

I remind myself, if I'm this nervous, she must be even more nervous. Except that was awfully seductive the way she said she had a surprise for me. I wonder what she meant? A tattoo on her butt? Embarrassing noises when she climaxes? No, she did climax in Monterey, I remember now. Mmm, she's going to— while we're— Oh God!

OK, relax, try to relax. This is just the same as if we waited for the honeymoon. We're just a little early, that's all.

I really didn't expect this result when I reluctantly agreed to dance with Betty. The guys were egging me on and I told myself, it's just a dance. And I figured Angela would understand because she was cool with it back in Vegas. Of course, that was before a lot of stuff happened, even before the road trip.

And, yeah, I responded to Betty a little. I'm a guy, a guy who's been living with a very attractive woman for over a month and totally unable to do anything but fool around a little. Not that I wanted to do anything with Betty, not consciously I mean. And as soon as Angela returned, I wanted to dance with her. But she didn't give me a chance.

And then all the wives and girlfriends of my teammates were glaring at me like I was Henry VIII or something, while my teammates were looking at me as if I was whipped. And the Orioles crowd just thought the whole thing was funny. But I didn't really care what any person there thought of me. I just cared what Angela thought. So I broke away as soon as I could and came after her.

I didn't expect her to be packing to leave! I thought we'd yell, maybe throw things, like with Marie. But I remembered that she has a tendency to leave when things get too intense, like the morning all the husbands showed up.

Yeah, I'm still jealous of Michael and Brian. And Grant. So I could understand her jealousy of Betty, even though Betty has never meant anything to me emotionally, while Michael at least has meant something to her.

I didn't mean to blurt out that I love Angela. I meant it, but I hadn't even consciously admitted it to myself! Every time I got close, I kept thinking it was too soon. And maybe on some level, I felt disloyal to Marie if I loved Angela, despite the Vegas wedding and everything else. Like if I kept that part back, then it was OK.

But I haven't taken anything from Marie. I still have my memories with her. It's just OK that I've made and hopefully will keep on making memories with Angela.

When she said she loved me, I was surprised, but she didn't seem to be. It was like she'd been thinking it awhile but had waited to tell me till I said it first. I'm glad I did, and I'm glad she did. But it does add extra weight to what we're about to do.

I could back out. I could knock on the bathroom door and say, "Listen, we know we want to and that's enough. We'll wait till we go back to Vegas."

But I've got a hard-on that's weighing me down and I know I'm not getting up as long as he's up.

She finally comes out of the bathroom. It looks like she's freshened up her makeup. Women. Yeah, she looks like even more of a knockout, but it's all going to get smeared anyway.

She sits next to me. "It's in."

"Yeah? You want me to double-check that it's in position?" I tease, moving my hand onto her knee.

"Tony!" She looks shocked but then amused.

I kiss her, leaving my hand on her knee, until she guides it inward and upward. Her thigh is soft and silky, like I remember. But when I reach the top, there's no cloth in the way. I whisper in her ear, "No panties, Angie?"

"It seemed silly to put them back on."

"Yeah, that saves me a step."

She giggles, a little nervously. Somehow that's reassuring. Then she says, "You look so handsome in your tuxedo. It's a shame you have to take it off."

"Well, I could go Prom Night style."

"Prom Night?"

I shake my head. I forget sometimes how innocent she is. "You know, the backseat, just unzipping, leaving my clothes on, pushing the girl's dress up, taking her panties down. Preferably not in a rented limo."

"Is that how you did it on Prom Night?"

"Nah, but that's how some of my buddies did it. Me, I like nudity."

"I like your nudity."

"I like yours. Well, I haven't seen all of it in awhile. And not sober yet."

"We'll have to remedy that."

Mmmm. With one hand, I unzip her dress and with the other I push up the hem. "So beautiful," I whisper, looking down and catching a glimpse of the part of her I've been doing my best not to think about all these weeks.

She blushes of course. "Thank you," she whispers.

I peel the little black dress off her, so that she's just in a strapless black push-up bra. Then I undo that so she's finally naked before me again.

"So beautiful," I repeat.

"Tony, I know you've been with a lot of women—"

"Not that many!"

"Well, in the double digits probably."

"Well, yeah, but much closer to ten than ninety-nine. But don't go comparing yourself to them."  
"Thank you. Um, but I was also going to ask, um, you haven't any, I mean, you're not—"

"You're asking if I have VD?" I don't know if I'm more offended or amused.

"I'm sorry. It's just I've never been with anyone but Michael."  
"I'm clean, Angie. But if you're worried about it, I can go borrow a condom after all."

"I'm not worried," she says, and starts undoing my tie. Then to my amusement, she takes it off me and puts it around her own neck. "Can you tie it?"

I think for a moment she wants to get kinky, and then I realize that she just wants to wear my tie. I assume that's all of my outfit she's putting on. I'm definitely not putting on the little black dress.

I tie the tie for her. "Very sexy," I murmur, because it is, her naked except for the bow tie.

"Thank you," she whispers, and then she starts undoing my shirt.

"You're not gonna steal that, too, are you?"

"No, it would just get in the way." She peels the shirt off me. This is nice, her undressing me, piece by piece, patiently but persistently. "Mmm, you have a perfect torso."

"Yeah? I mean, thanks." I've never received that exact compliment.

"Yes, the way everything connects and flows, the muscles and the skin and the hair." She starts stroking my chest and my stomach. I get even harder. "I've been wanting to touch you for so long."

"Baby, I want to touch you, too."

"Not yet, I want to savor the beefcake."

I laugh. "OK."

She caresses my arms but then I move them around her, stroking her back.

"Let's lie down," she suggests.

"OK."

We lie close and then we kiss. Our hands explore each other more. I really want to be inside her, but her body is so beautiful, I don't want to just to enter her and ignore the rest. And I've waited this long. I can wait a little longer.

"I keep thinking we're going to be interrupted."

I chuckle. "Yeah, we usually are, aren't we?" Then I frown. Don't let anyone knock or call. Let us have tonight. Haven't we earned it?

"Take off your pants, Tony. Please."

"You don't want to do it?"

"No, I want to see you." She blushes, pink as a rose, all over her body.

"OK," I whisper. I unzip and peel off the slacks as best I can lying down. I'm wearing briefs because the slacks hang better with them than with boxers.

She bites her lip and her eyes shyly but definitely go to the bulge. I wonder if this will be only the second one she's ever seen, on a live adult man I mean. I remember Marie, the good Catholic virgin, not shy in other ways, but shy that first night, but very, very curious.

At least Angela isn't a virgin. I don't think I could take that on top of everything else. Still, there's some pressure because she's less experienced than she should be at 28. On the other hand, well, it's not like she'll be comparing me to a lot of guys.

"Ready?" She nods, so I peel off the briefs.

"Tony," she whispers.

"Pleased to meet you," I tease.

She reaches out her hand but to my surprise, she goes for my love trail.

"I like that you're so hairy," she says as she strokes my lower stomach. "It's very sexy."

"Thanks." I think about saying something about her never having been with an ethnic man before, but it would sound funny.

"Can I go lower?"

"You kiddin' me?"

She smiles and then wraps one hand firmly around me!

"Whoa, Baby, slow down! I've got to last long enough to get inside you."

"Sorry." She lets go.

I lay next to her and we kiss on our sides. Then I guide her hand onto me again and have her tease herself with me just on the outside.

"Oh, Tony!"

"Is that nice?"

"Uh huh."

"What position do you want?"

"Well, I read—"

"Aw, come on, Angela, enough with the books."

"That the missionary position is nice for a couple that are new to each other, because it's easy to get into and you can look into each other's eyes."

"I want to get right inside your eyes, Angie."

She giggles. "I want to live in your eyes, Tony."

I've never had pillow talk like this. It sounds a little obsessive, but playful.

"Yeah, missionary's good. Classic. We can do other positions later. We've got years and years of this."

"Oh, Tony!" she gasps, as if it's just hit her that this is the first of many, many times.

"Lie back, Sweet Angie."

She does, spreading her legs and closing her eyes. I get on top of her but don't enter right away. I kiss her lips and her eyelids till they all open. Then I alternate looking intently into her eyes and teasing her mouth with my tongue.

"Let me know when you're ready ready," I say, meaning physically and mentally both. I think she's already there emotionally.

"OK."

I stroke her hair. "So pretty, so pretty everywhere."

"Tony, oh, Tony, you're so sweet, so gorgeous! So hard!" She gasps and then rolls her hips, almost involuntarily.

"An-gel-a!" I exclaim. "Where'd you get moves like that?"

"That was the surprise. I move too much."  
"Baby, there's no such thing."

"Michael said—"

"No, he doesn't count. We do."

She nods. And then she grabs me again, but I don't stop her. I let her guide me into her.

"How's that feel?"

"So good!"

I start stroking. "Mmm, yeah, it's, wow!" I'm in her, I'm finally in her, moving inside her!

"Yes," she says, and then giggles.

I smile. "Do the roll again."

"I don't want to hurt you."

I try not to laugh. "You won't."

So she rolls and I start rocking.

"Tony, Tony, Tony, oh God! You're really inside me and you're, you're!"

"Yes, I am claiming you as my wife."

"My husband!"

"With my body I thee worship!"

"All my worldly goods I thee endow."

"These are some goods, Lady."

We stop talking for awhile, because we start panting and kissing.

"Don't come yet, Tony!" she pleads.

"You need some more, Baby?"  
"Yes!"

"OK, I won't come if you come instead."

"It takes me awhile to—OH MY GOD!"

"Does it help when I—?"

"Oh, yes!"

"Then I'd better do it again."  
"TONY, TONY, TONY! My darling Tony!"

"You're such a sweet comer, Baby! You're so beautiful when you come!"  
"More, Tony, please!"

"More of this? Or more of this?"

"Both!"  
"Greedy wife."  
"Generous husband."

"Well, I did promise you multiple O's, you know."

"And not the kind from Baltimore."

"Right."

I love watching her face when she comes. Even after a few orgasms, they seem to keep catching her by surprise. I'm surprised she's got so many in her, but I guess they've been saved up.

"Angela, this is incredible, but I did play a game today. My energy is not at its peak."

"OK, let me stop and then it's your turn. OH, SORRY! WOW!"

I roll us over. "You finish on top, OK?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Now I can really watch her face, as well as reach up and tease her nipples with my fingers and tongue. Of course, that doesn't exactly stop the orgasms.

"Are you trying to get into Guinness or somethin'?"

"I'm sorry, I'm usually not this responsive. I think it's a combination of how incredibly sexy and passionate you are and how we've had to wait all this time."

"So this won't be typical?"

"I don't think so. OH, HERE'S ANOTHER ONE!"

"Angela, I will give you a bunch more on our honeymoon. I promise."

"OK." She climbs down and tries to look demure.

I mount her again and this time do steady pumping. Then she rolls her hips in a different way and I lose control. "GOD, ANGIE, MY GOD, MY WIFE! OH, BABY, YOU'RE DRIVIN' ME CRAZY! HERE, HERE, HERE! LOVE YOU!"  
"I love my sexy husband, especially when he comes." She pulls me close, with her arms and long legs.

I collapse on her, as much in disbelief as exhaustion. "Angie, this can't be legal!"

"It's not," she reminds me.

"Oh, right. Well, wait till Thanksgiving."

She pouts. "No more sex till then?"

I kiss her lower lip and then nibble it. "Well, not in Connecticut."

"I hear Vermont is pretty this time of year."

I laugh and say, "My first New England girl, they shoulda warned me."


	41. Fish Truck

"So who won?" Mrs. Rossini asks when she picks us up.

"We did."  
"Of course. You know, Angie, this boy has been a great ball player since he was a kid. Some people said he was a hood, but I knew better. He could steal bases better than street signs. Not to mention a few hearts, hey, Tony?"

We both smile weakly. I keep thinking it's must be written all over our faces what we did, but so far she seems oblivious.

On the flight to JFK, Tony said, "Did you ever hear the riddle about the fox, the chicken, and the corn?"

"Uh, I'm not sure."

"There are different versions, with different animals and objects. This is how my Grandpa Micelli told it to me. A farmer went to the market to buy a fox, a chicken, and a bag of corn. But he had to cross the river to get home, and he could take only one thing he bought at a time. If he left the fox with the chicken, then the fox would eat the chicken. Same thing with the chicken and the corn. So what did he do?"

"Oh, I remember this one but I don't remember the solution. Give me a moment." I thought awhile and then said, "He first crossed the river with the chicken and left it over there. Then he went back and got the fox and took it across. But when he returned to the first side, he took the chicken with him, so the fox wouldn't eat the chicken while he was gone. Then he left the chicken over there and brought back the corn. He knew he could safely leave the corn with the fox, so he made one last trip back to get the chicken. And then he took them all home, intact."

Tony shook his head. "He fed the corn to the chicken, and then the chicken to the fox. Then he took the fox home and had it for dinner."

I stared at him. "What was the point of that?"

"For the farmer, that sometimes the quickest, simplest solution is the best. For us, that I've been overthinking who to have pick us up at the airport, or whether we should take a cab and then send Pop home in it, paying in advance. And I've decided on Mrs. Rossini."

"Can you back up? I'm not following the analogy."

"I don't want Dennis playing chauffeur, when he's going to know right off that you and I, you know."

I blushed. "Yes."

"And I wouldn't want any of my other buddies either. Now, it is true that Bobby Governale came back to New York yesterday and he's too classy to tease us. However, he has either slept with your mother or will someday, and I really don't want a situation where my best friend and my father are romantic rivals for my mother-in-law."

I nodded, feeling both embarrassed and amused.

"So that pretty much leaves Mrs. Rossini. She doesn't have to know we shared a room, let alone a bed. And she'll probably pick us up, not just as a favor to me, but as an excuse to see your house."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's all right."  
"Yeah. Of course, we'll probably have to go in the fish truck."

The Rossinis run a fish shop in Brooklyn. And, yes, we're going home in their truck. I sort of wish we were taking a taxi, but oh well. I doubt Matty will mind the smell, seeing as he drives a garbage truck.

On the long way back to Fairfield, Mrs. Rossini talks a lot, and loudly of course, although we're sitting on the front seat with her. Luckily, she doesn't expect much response, except when she has questions about the wedding. She wants to run the menu by us. She won't be serving a full turkey dinner to all our guests of course, but she says she can't just serve them nothing.

"Tony, have you got your tux yet?"

"Uh, yeah, I've got my tux."

I try to blank out handsome he looked in it, and then out of it. And I try even harder to not remember waking up with him this morning.

I woke up first, feeling a mixture of _Oh God, what have we done?_ and _Finally! We did it!_ I half expected the Feds to break down the door and arrest us for consummated bigamy. But I also felt so contented. Yes, sexually of course, but also emotionally. Tony and I had needed to do what we'd done. We would've gone crazy if we waited another week and a half till Brian divorced me, or almost two weeks till our wedding night.

I softly kissed Tony awake and he woke up grinning.

"I was hoping that wasn't a dream," he said, starting to untie his bow tie from my neck.

"It was very real."

"Yeah. So's this." He pressed against me and I could feel how ready he was to do it again.

"Mmm, Tony, I want to but I need to freshen up the spermicide."

"Sweet talker."

I laughed. "Give me a moment."

"OK, maybe a moment."

I got out of bed and went into the bathroom, very aware that his eyes were on my tush as I left. I peed, washed my hands, and then prepared myself mentally to deal with my diaphragm. I still wasn't fully awake and I didn't want to do this the wrong way.

Then Tony knocked and said, "Can I come in?"

I almost said no. This was a private moment. Certainly, I wouldn't have let Michael in. But Tony is different. "OK."

So he came in and asked, "Need some help?"

I blushed. "Have you ever done this before?"

"No, but I'm willing to learn."

I laughed. And then I told him how to take the diaphragm out, clean it, put fresh gel on, and then reinsert it. Now, I have to say, it was nothing like going to the gynecologist. For one thing, Tony necked with me to relax me. And it was a surprisingly erotic experience overall, if weird.

"You ever get it on in a shower?" he asked when he was done insuring I was protected. "Sorry, I mean make love."

"No, but I've read—"

He shook his head and turned on the faucets. Then when the temperature was just right, maybe a little hotter than I'm used to but still good, he beckoned me in. Then he soaped me up everywhere. I returned the favor. And then we necked again. I was so glad that I'm almost as tall as he is.

And when I wrapped one leg around his hip, it was just right for him to glide into me. It was lovely, like making love in a waterfall or the rain. We started out slow and then got more and more intense and hungry.

I didn't come as much as I did last night. That was a little ridiculous, that string of little and moderate orgasms. This was just two explosive ones, followed by Tony's massive one, where he kept saying how incredible I was and no one would think to look at me that I was a volcano. I would've laughed but it was so sweet and sexy.

After the shower, we had to dress and go downstairs for brunch. I hadn't realized how noisy we were, especially last night, and so of course we got lots of teasing from the team and the auxiliary.

Oh, and Betty apologized to me. As much as she ever does apparently. She offered me pastry and then said, "I'm sorry about the dancin', Sugar. You didn't seem to mind me flirtin' with him in Vegas."

"Well, this isn't Vegas." I couldn't explain to her of course how much has happened since then. But I did accept the pastry.

And I guess I am bizarrely grateful to her as a catalyst. I mean, if she hadn't scared Tony weeks ago, then he wouldn't have gotten drunk and married me. And maybe he and I wouldn't have gone to bed last night if I hadn't gotten jealous of her.

Do I wish we had waited? Oh, maybe a little, if only because it will be hard to wait the remaining days till Brian's divorce is complete. (And there's a part of my mind that thinks he's going to screw things up again.)

But sex with Tony is so wonderful, so amazing, so beyond anything I ever imagined. His body is perfect and he knows what to do with it, but he also seems to understand my body, which Michael never really did, other than the basics. And the best part is, Tony loves me!

I really should not be thinking about this while I'm sitting next to Mrs. Rossini, who's now asking me about my wedding dress. Especially when I have to go home and face my meddlesome mother.


	42. Lightly Grilled

Mona waits till Monday evening to spring her trap. She wasn't here when we got back yesterday and of course Pop wasn't going to ask us embarrassing questions, especially in front of the kids. Then this morning, she behaved while she watched the kids and I took Angela to the station. Angela and I thought we'd escaped, but of course we should've known better.

"So, Tony," Mona says when she comes by to get the keys to the Jag while I'm making dinner, "how was the game?"

"I told you. We won."

"But how did you perform? Score a lot of home runs?"

I glance over at her but she looks innocent. A month ago, I might've fallen for that but not now. "I did OK," I say, going back to stirring.

"You're so modest. I guess I'll have to ask Angela if she enjoyed it."

"Uh, you know, Mone, maybe I should pick her up at the station tonight and you watch the kids."

"And interrupt the preparation of what smells like a wonderful meal? Perish the thought! I am invited to dinner, aren't I?"

Well, what am I gonna say? "Yeah, if you want." So that's her plan, bait Angela in the car and then zing us together after the kids are asleep. If she can wait that long. I wish I could warn Angela but it's not like I can call her on the train, right?

When she comes back with Angela, I say, "Uh, Angela, can I ask you a question about your safe?"

"Let me know if she tells you the combination."  
"Ha ha, you're a riot, Mona." Then I lead Angela into the den.

"Tony, I know we're really married now," she blushes a little, probably remembering how we became official, "but I use that safe for business."

"No, it's OK, I already know the combination."  
"You do?" she says in surprise.

"Yeah, it fell out of _Huckleberry Finn_ when I was dusting the bookcase."

"Oh."  
"But that's not what I really wanted to talk to you about."  
"It's about Mother, isn't it?"

"Yeah, how badly did she grill you?"

She sighs, shakes her head, and then laughs. "Well, she asked if I was expecting a visit from Aunt Flo. And I was confused because Daddy was an only child and the aunt I'm inviting to the wedding is named Barbara, but she won't be staying with us. And then I realized what Mother meant."

I nod and make a flowing motion with my hands. "Aunt Flow?"

"Yes. Um, it is due this week, but I'm sure it'll be on time. We were very careful after all."  
"Yeah. So do you think she knows we did it? And do you think she thinks we were trying to get you pregnant?"

"Oh, Tony, who can fathom the intricacies of my mother's mind?"

I laugh. "Yeah. Well, we better get back out there. She'll probably go easy on us till the kids are asleep."

"Should we tell her if she asks directly?"

"I don't see how we can avoid it."

She sighs again. "Right."

I kiss her cheek and then we go to the kitchen.

It's OK during dinner. Sam seems to do most of the talking, about the wedding and about kindergarten and about Marci's new dollhouse and about something funny Jonathan did.

"Cwazy," he agrees.

After dinner, Mona plays Candyland with the kids. (And, yes, we've had to train Jonathan not to eat the pieces.) Angela and I do the dishes, by hand, just to avoid Mona. We even carefully wash the good china. But we do put the kids to bed. They'd be upset if we didn't.

Mona is waiting for us when we go back down to the living room, a cat-like look on her face. She waits till we sit on the couch, at opposite ends, to ask, "So how does it feel to be finally really married?"

Well, that's direct.

"Um, Mona, we had, well—"

"It's funny how different states have silly laws. Like here in Connecticut, you can be stopped by the police for biking over 65 miles per hour. Not that I've ever gone that fast, but it's good to know. And over in Hartford, it's illegal for a man to kiss his wife on a Sunday, so, Tony, you can be glad you live in Fairfield."

"Mother, what are you getting at?"

"Well, South Carolina has its own laws. I hope you didn't break any."  
I know from playing in the South that it is illegal in some states to, well, "play in the south" in some ways, although I've never been caught of course. But, unless there's a law against shower sex, Angela and I are, well, clean.

"Meaning?" Angela asks with her arms crossed.

"Well, for instance, did you know that in a common-law state like South Carolina registering in a hotel as a married couple means that the state recognizes you as married? Isn't that fascinating?"

I'm afraid to look at Angela, but out of the corner of my eye I can see that she's trying as hard as I am not to look stunned.

"So, although I really hope you finally consummated your relationship, it doesn't ultimately matter because, in the eyes of another state besides Nevada, you two are indeed married. See, Fate?"

"Fate, Mother? And just how long have you known about this silly yet fascinating law?"

"Well, remember when I won that trip to Hollywood but it was Hollywood, South Carolina?"  
"Mother, that was ten years ago!"

"You've known about this for ten years?"

"Yes, but luckily my date had been to South Carolina before, so he knew better than to register as my husband."

I'd never lied about my identity, or any of my dates' identities, on a hotel register before this past weekend. And not for nothing, what else was I gonna put, when my teammates might find out?

"Mother, how could you let us leave for Charleston without telling us that?"

She shrugs. "I figured it was more fun this way. And you're getting married in Brooklyn next week anyway."

"Yes, after Brian divorces me! Not before."

"Oh, Angela, if you were that worried about bigamy, you wouldn't have jumped Tony."

Angela blushes.

"You did, didn't you?"

"It wasn't like that!"

"I'm sure it was lovely and romantic, as well as hot and steamy. But in any case, you two did it, which further seals your marriage, register or not."

"Yeah, but, Mone, we would've liked to have known about the law anyway, so we could've gone into this with our eyes open."

"Oh, please, if I'd told you, you wouldn't have gone, and you wouldn't have had a chance to be alone for two nights, and the sexual tension in this house would've reached smog-like proportions!"

I hate it when she's right.

"Now the next question is, were you protected?"

"Um, yes, I took my diaphragm, just in case," Angela mumbles.

"Good girl. I think you two should have a baby together, but not yet. Blending your families is going to take time, although you're off to a good start. Let Jonathan and Sam get more used to each other. And you two aren't getting any of the childless time together that a couple typically gets, so throwing a baby into the mix right now is not a good idea."

"Thank you, Mother," Angela says briskly.

"Hey, speaking of blending families," I blurt out, "Mona, what are your intentions towards my father?"

She laughs. "He is very handsome and charming, like his son. But, unlike with Sam's other grandfather, I think I'm going to be seeing him around a lot. We agreed that we'd have to be careful about getting together and risking the children getting hurt."

"I don't think Jonathan is overly concerned about your love life, Mother."

"I meant you and Tony, Dear."

"Yeah, I would appreciate it if you don't break my father's heart, Mone."

"I feel the same about my daughter's heart, Tone."

Her, well, tone is surprisingly serious, startling us both as much as anything else she's said this evening.

She comes over and sits between us, taking the nearest hand of each of us. "Look, I am very happy you two have gotten together physically. But I hope that before you have your wedding next week, and definitely before your honeymoon, you clear up how you feel about each other. Because, Tony, I don't know if you've noticed, but my daughter is a huge romantic. And, Dear, underneath Tony's earthy, muscular exterior is a very sentimental heart. Don't go breaking that either."  
"I won't," Angela says quietly.

She squeezes both our hands and then asks, "Have you admitted that you love each other?"

We nod and I say, "Yeah, before we—um, yeah, in Charleston."

"Good." She lets go and stands up suddenly. "Well, I think that about covers it for tonight. We'll have another little chat after you get back from the honeymoon."

"I can't wait," Angela and I mutter simultaneously and then look at each other and smile.

Mona slips out quietly and Angela and I spend the next hour kissing and trying not to get too carried away.


	43. Their Business

I got my period. Not that I was terribly worried but no method is foolproof. And it's one less thing to worry about.

After I come back from the restroom (no executive washroom key for me, since I'm the only female executive), I get a call in my new office. Internal. I pick up and say, "Angela Bower speaking." I try not to think about how I am more "Angela Micelli" than I was a week ago.

"Hello, Angela Bower. This is Grant Kingsley."

Oh, damn. I've been doing my best to avoid being alone with him since the cocktail party, and of course even more since the Charleston trip. But I guess I may as well get this over with.

"Hi, Grant. What's up?"  
"Hopefully you in a few minutes. Can you come up to my office?"

"Of course." I know, I should lie and say I'm busy. But I can't be a coward all the time.

"Great. See you soon."

I look out my office window. I wonder if I'll lose this and all the other perks. No, he wouldn't fire me just for not dating him, would he? I'm too good at my job, and he's never pressured me much. Still, I don't think he'll take the news of my engagement too well. (I can't tell him about the existing marriage to Tony, I just can't. And it's none of his business anyway.)

I don't take a portfolio or anything this time. I got my promotion and I'm not as desperate to prove myself. And there's no use pretending that this is business rather than personal.

So I'm surprised when he says, "How's your new team working out for you?"

We talk about that for a few minutes. I try to be upbeat and positive, even though there's some resistance from my staff to having a young woman as their boss. Only Howie, who's still my assistant and who at 22 doesn't remember a workplace without women, seems at all unfazed.

Then he says, "You seem to be settling in fine. How about we go out to dinner this weekend to celebrate?"

Oh, boy, here we go. "That's very sweet of you, Grant, but—"

"I know, it's only been about a month and a half since your divorce. But be honest, Angela, you weren't that happy when you were married. And I'm not looking for anything serious, if that's what you're afraid of."

"Uh, no, it's not. Um, actually, Grant, I met someone."

"Oh? I thought you weren't ready to date again."

"Well, yes, I wasn't looking for this but, um."

"It sounds pretty serious."

"It is. We're getting married."

"I see. Were you going to tell me? Not that I expect an invitation to the wedding or anything."

I can't imagine Grant, in his Brooks Brothers suit, standing in a Brooklyn apartment, throwing rice at me and Tony. Rice, that reminds me. Am I supposed to invite Michael? What is the etiquette? I'd rather not if I don't have to.

"I'm sorry, Grant. I didn't know how to tell you. You see, when I met Tony—"

"Tony? Not Tony your housekeeper?"

"Um, yes, that Tony."

"You're dating the help? No, I'm sorry, you're marrying the help?"

"Well, yes, but I knew him before he was my housekeeper."

"Oh, how long?"

"Um, we met the first night my divorce was final." I'm going to keep this as simple as possible.

He leans back in his chair. "Ohhhh! I see."

"What?"

"Well, that was a month and a half ago, like I said."

"Seven weeks actually."

"Exactly. Just enough time for you to realize that you're, well. And to think that that means you have to marry Tony."

"Grant, I am definitely not pregnant."

"Well, I know you're not old-fashioned enough to think that you have to marry a man just because you go to bed with him."

I almost say, "Grant, sometimes I marry men even when I haven't gone to bed with them." Instead I say, "Grant, I know it's sudden, but I'm in love with Tony. And he's in love with me."

"Angela, no offence, but maybe you're just on the rebound. Or, well, Tony's a good-looking guy in an earthy sort of way. Maybe you're mistaking lust for love."

"I don't think so."

"Why the hurry then?"

"He's Catholic!" I blurt out. "We can't live in sin."

"Oh." Grant looks like he doesn't know what to say to that.

"So I'm very sorry about all this and—"

"Angela, there's no need to apologize. I wish you had been upfront with me, but I can see why you weren't. And I meant what I said about your success here having nothing to do with our relationship."  
"Oh, well, good."  
"However, if this marriage doesn't work out either, the offer for dinner still stands."

I want to slap him for implying that Tony and I have no future, but I don't entirely blame him. So what else can I say but "Thank you"?

Luckily, I get out of there without telling him that the wedding's in a week. I plan to be back to work bright and early the Monday morning after Thanksgiving Weekend. Tony and I would love a longer honeymoon but we don't know when we can manage it. Maybe for our first anniversary, next September, unless the Cards make the Series of course. At this point, getting three nights and three days alone together, with no distractions, sounds like Heaven.

The rest of the day is relatively uneventful, until I have a run-in with Jim Peterson.

He drops by my office and starts innocuously enough with, "I like what you've done with Claude's office."

"Thank you."

Then he says, "Did you pay for it yourself or did the company?"

"I paid for it myself."  
"Oh, well, I thought Grant might've given it to you, as a present."

"Grant is not in the habit of giving me presents."  
"I see."

"Jim, I know what you said to Tony about me, but there has never been and never will be anything inappropriate between me and Grant."

"Hey, if he wants to dip his pen in the company inkwell, it's not my affair. So to speak."

I feel myself turning red from both anger and embarrassment, although I do feel amusement, too, at being called an inkwell. "I mean it, Jim. I keep my personal and business lives very separate."

"Oh? What about 'Tony'? Your housekeeper? Or is that OK because it's your home rather than the office?"

That's none of his business but I can't just say that. I have to work with Jim. Someday he may be a vice-president as well. Or given the vagaries of the advertising world, I may be his boss, or he mine, although I sincerely hope not. On the other hand, even less than with Grant, I am not going to tell him personal details.

"I'm engaged to Tony."

"You're engaged to your housekeeper?"

"Yes. So obviously I am not pursuing anything with Grant."

"Oh, yes, obviously," he says sarcastically.

I sigh wearily. "Was there anything business-related you wanted to discuss?"

"Oh. Yes, of course." And then he makes up a question that he already knows the answer to, just so that I can answer it quickly and he can leave, presumably to spread gossip about my engagement. It's probably not as juicy as if I were fooling around with Grant, but I'm sure it'll suffice for a Thursday. It wasn't how I wanted people at work to find out, but it could be worse.

Then an hour later, my new secretary, Rosie, comes in. She has red hair and a very strong New York accent. She's told me she loves working for a woman and I'm her new role model. I'm resisting suggesting she take a speech class, since that would be hypocritical considering who my new husband is.

"Mrs. Bower!" she exclaims, shutting the door behind her. "You're gettin' married again?"

"Yes."  
"Oh, my God! When?"

I wave her over and quietly ask, "Can you keep a secret?"

"Yeah, sure! I am an executive secretary."

"Right. It's in a week."

"On Thanksgiving?"

"Yes. It'll be in Brooklyn. Can you come?"

"You're invitin' me to your weddin'?"

"Yes. In fact, I'd like you to be a bridesmaid, if it's not too short notice."

"Oh, Mrs. Bower, you're so sweet! I'd love to be your bridesmaid!"

She's so excited, I feel like making her into my maid of honor, but that wouldn't be fair to my cousin Christy.

"We'll go buy your dress on your lunch hour tomorrow. I'll pay for it."

"You are the nicest boss I ever had! Well, I did have bosses who offered to buy me clothes, but it wasn't like this."

I try not to laugh. "Right. But remember, don't tell anyone, not even the other secretaries."

"Swear to God."

It'll probably be all over the building by 5 p.m. But I'll survive it if it is. And at least this should kill the rumors about me and Grant. And if I can face the gossip here, then I can definitely get through the Parents' Association meeting tonight.


	44. Parents' Association

I feel kind of self-conscious walking in to the Parents' Association meeting, more than I did last month. Not that there wasn't gossip about me and Angela back then, but I was just Angela's "hunky housekeeper," which wasn't a bad thing. Now I'm her fiancé and we're no longer pretending there's nothing going on. I don't think it'll get any easier after the show wedding, but it's got to die down sometime.

I'm really glad she came with me, to show support, even though of course the gossip is even tougher on her, as the woman. Plus, I'm new to the neighborhood. This has been her home for years.

The worst part is that that bitch Joanne Parker is President of the Association. I did make Sam apologize to Dwight, but apparently he didn't apologize for provoking the fight by saying her daddy is doing bad stuff with my boss. And I know Joanne will never apologize.

We find seats by Wendy Wittener. Mrs. Wittener, or Wendy as she wants me to call her, now that I'm a fiancé as well as a housekeeper, is all right. Yeah, she's got a crush on me but she seems harmless. Even the dreaded Diane Wilmington just ogles me from afar, but then Angela staked out her territory early on.

No, I don't mind being Angie's "territory." You kiddin' me? She's mine, too. I mean, not that we "own" each other. But we belong to each other, you know? I feel that way even more since Charleston.

We are staying out of each other's beds. Only another week to wait. We can do that.

I know a few other people in the room, especially the ones with kids Sam's age. There's Mrs. Ferguson. I know her husband usually doesn't go, too busy as a doctor. Not that Angela isn't busy, but she made time for this.

"Well, I guess we have a quorum," Mrs. Parker says and taps her gavel on the table.

She has the secretary, Mrs. Seaver, read back the minutes from last week and then she asks if there's any new business.

Angela starts to raise her hand, but Mrs. Seaver says, "Actually, I have an announcement to make. Jason, the kids, and I are moving to Long Island."

Well, that of course causes a sensation. I know the Seavers a little, in the way that everyone knows everyone at least a little in Fairfield. She was a newspaper reporter until she had her last kid. Mr. Seaver is a psychiatrist. Their son Mike is 8 and their daughter Carol is 7. (She's a year or two ahead of Sam in school.) And then their youngest, Ben, is Jonathan's age. They seem like nice people, but Angela and I haven't really socialized as a couple, or our family as a family, because of our fuzzy status. Hopefully, that will change after we're officially married.

Anyway, the Seavers are well-liked and so everyone is very sad to hear they're moving. And the thing is, he's the treasurer, so now there are two openings on the Association board.

"I nominate Wendy Wittener for secretary," Angela says.

"I second it," I say. I have no idea if Wendy can take notes or anything, but what the heck. She's Angela's friend, so that's good enough for me.

Joanne does that fake little laugh of hers. "I'm afraid we haven't opened up the floor for nominations yet."

"I vote we open up the floor for nominations," says Mr. Seaver with a mischievous smile.

Wendy gets the position and seems happy about it. Then when it's time for the nominations for treasurer, she says, "I nominate Tony Micelli."  
"I second it," Angela says immediately.

"I'm sorry, but we can't have non-members of the Association as candidates," Joanne says.

"Joanne," Angela says, putting on her "business" voice, "as I'm sure you know, any parent of a child enrolled in the Fairfield Public School system is eligible for membership in the group, whose name of course is 'Parents' Association.' "

"Yes, that's true, Angela, but Mr. Micelli has not in fact applied for membership, nor has he paid the annual dues."

"How much are the dues?" I whisper to Wendy.

"Twenty dollars."

"Oh." I don't have that much on me right now.

"I'll cover it, Tony, don't worry about it," Angela says quietly.

"Are there any other candidates?" Joanne asks, sounding a bit desperate.

No one suggests anyone.

"Well, seeing as Mr. Micelli is about to be qualified and there's no opposition, I'm happy to turn over my treasurer's hat—"

"There's a hat?"

"Figure of speech," Angela mutters.

"Oh."

"Yes, Jason, Mr. Micelli is, or will be, technically qualified, but I wonder about whether he's really qualified."

"Excuse me?" Angela says indignantly.

"Well, really, Angela, he doesn't have enough money to pay the dues for membership, and yet he's the highest-paid housekeeper in the neighborhood!"

"I am?"

"That doesn't say much for Mr. Micelli's ability to manage money."

"Uh, I'm right here. You don't have to refer to me in the third person."

"All right then, Mr. Micelli. I also question whether you have the morals to belong to the Parents' Association."

A collective gasp fills the room. Wow, she went there!

"Tony's morals are as good as yours, Joanne," Angela says.

"That means so much coming from his 'housemate' and employer."

"And his fiancée. We're getting married in a week, not that that has anything to do with his eligibility for the Association of course."

"True. And he has another job, doesn't he? Mr. Micelli, are you not in fact the Tony Micelli who plays second-base for the St. Louis Cardinals?"

Well, that wins over some of the guys in the room, including Jason Seaver.

And Mrs. Seaver asks, "Do you have a problem with baseball, Joanne?"  
"Yeah," Wendy says, "that's like being anti-mom and apple pie."  
"I think baseball is a wonderful sport, Maggie. However, it's notorious how athletes behave on the road. Mr. Micelli, do you deny that you have ever frolicked with groupies?"

"Joanne, please stop acting like a prosecuting attorney," Angela says. "Tony is a grown man and what he did while he was single is really not anyone's business, except mine."

"Angela, I think you're too biased to understand what Tony joining the Association would mean."

"You're right, Joanne, I am biased. I see that Tony is kind and patient and far more intelligent than most people realize. They're put off by his Brooklyn accent, or his jobs, or his lack of higher education. But I can think of no one would who could better serve this community or its children than the man who is trying to make a better life for his little girl, and the man who is caring for my precious son every day."

"Yes, about his little girl. His daughter—"

"His daughter reacted to some spiteful gossip that should never have reached the ears of a kindergartner. She reacted like any child would whose family was threatened, but she has apologized for it."

"Yes, but—"

"Hey, can I say something?"  
"You have the floor, Mr. Micelli," Joanne says coldly.

"I'd be happy to serve as treasurer, but really, I just want to join the Parents' Association. Sam, that's my daughter, loves her teacher and she's learning a lot. She's really bright but it was hard for her to thrive in Brooklyn. She's thriving here. I just want to give back to the school, to the community. Thank you."  
Wendy bursts into applause, which is embarrassing, but kind of nice.

I'll spare you the procedural stuff. The short version, I join the Association and get elected treasurer in a landslide.

Out in the parking lot, we wish the Seavers good luck on their move. They wish us luck on our marriage and then they tell us that Joanne fought them becoming Association officers a few years ago.

"What on earth did she have against you two?" Angela asks.

"Yeah, you're a nice, clean-cut couple."  
"She doesn't trust psychiatry," Jason says.

"And she thought I was an unfit mother because I was working at the time."

"But we stood up to her, just like you two did tonight."

"Right. She needs to know that this is not her Association. It belongs to everyone."

"So," Mona says when we get home, "did you put the T & A into the PTA?" We both glare at her for making a joke like that in front of the kids. "What? I meant 'Tony and Angela.' "  
"Was it a nice meeting, Daddy?"

"Yeah, I'm the new treasurer."

"Like a pirate?"

"No, not that kind of treasure, Honey."

"Oh."

"Tweazuh."

After Angela and I put the kids to bed, we go back downstairs to Mona, who wants to hear all the dirt.

"You know what's funny?" she says when we're done.

"What?" I ask. "That Joanne hasn't a clue that Angela and I are married in Nevada and South Carolina?"

"That and the fact that you're going to have to quit when Spring training starts."

Angela and I look at each other.

"I think we won't mention that till February," Angela says and I nod.


	45. Fourth and Final

I'm this close to walking out of my own wedding. Or rather, the pre-wedding dinner. Don't get me wrong, the food is wonderful. Mrs. Rossini made most of it, with a little help from some of the other women, and Tony. But I can't stand the way she and those women are waiting on the men. They're doing everything but cutting their food up for them! Yes, that's what I'm doing for Jonathan, but he's a toddler.

Her son Joey has his new girlfriend, Theresa, here. (Not the Theresa that Tony used to date.) I've agreed to let her be a bridesmaid. But she's turning my stomach the way she dotes on Joey. It's not cute, it's slavish. And then Mrs. Rossini is everywhere at once, not even sitting down to eat. Even Tony is being waited on by Mrs. Rossini's great-aunt, who's actually my age and has a blonde bouffant and a miniskirt. She's a widow with a nine-year-old son named Al.

When little Sam offers to get food for Al, that's it, I flip out. I storm out, although I don't know this neighborhood and I have no idea where I'm going. Maybe I can catch a cab home. Or I could go into the office and get some work done. I don't want to think beyond that.

At least I'm not in my wedding dress yet. I didn't want Tony to see me in it, and of course I didn't want to spill food on it.

I half hope he'll come after me, although I don't want to discuss it till I calm down. To my surprise, Mother is the one who tails me. She was being doted on by both of Sam's grandfathers, traditional Italian men though they are.

"Cold feet?" she asks, when she meets me at the corner.

Well, literally, yes. I'm in open-toed pumps and it is November. But figuratively, too. "Mother, I just don't think I can do this. I can't marry into Tony's world. It's too old-fashioned."

She shakes her head. "Angela, he's marrying into your world. You'll be living together in Fairfield, as you have been for several weeks. And in any case, while this will always be Tony's old neighborhood, his roots, his life has also been the life of the road, with his team."

"I'm not sure if I'm ready to be a baseball wife either."

"Dear, he told me about those cute little cheers you made up, and how much he loved having you there, rooting him on. All you have to do is be yourself. He already had an Italian Brooklyn wife. Now he wants you."

"Then why isn't he here?"

"Because Jonathan started crying when you ran out and someone had to comfort him."

"Oh, I'm a rotten mother, too!" God, how could I just abandon my child? OK, it was in a room full of people, but still.

"You're a nervous bride. I know what that's like."

"You? But you always said you adored Daddy from the day you met and never had any doubts."

"Robert wasn't my first fiancé."

"WHAT?"

She takes my arm. "I'll tell you that story when you get back from your honeymoon."

I shake my head, but I let her lead me back to the Rossinis' apartment.

Tony greets me at the door. I notice Jonathan is being cuddled by Mrs. Rossini. "You OK, Angie?"

I smile. "I just needed some fresh air."

"Yeah, this is all crazy I know, but thanks for being such a good sport about everything. I mean, this isn't exactly orange blossoms and satin, is it?"  
I laugh. "No, but it's closer than usual for me," I whisper.

He laughs and then kisses me.

"Hey, you two, save it for the weddin'!" Theresa says.

"Or the wedding night!" Joey yells.

Tony and I part, blushing and smiling.

I get through the rest of the meal. I remind myself that no one is asking me to be a traditional wife for Tony, not even Tony. Yes, I may have to make some compromises, such as bringing less work home, but he's making and has made some compromises, too. In fact, he's probably had to change more than I have so far.

"OK, Tony," Mrs. Rossini asks, "are you two gonna want any of this to nosh on in Vegas? I've got Tupperware."

"Well, throw a few stuffed artichokes in my suitcase."

"You got it."

Then someone knocks on the door and Mr. Rossini, Joe, answers it.

"Blondes. They've gotta be from the bride's side of the family."

I go over and greet my aunt and cousin. Poor Christy looks intimidated by the noisy, crowded room. That actually makes me feel better, someone more overwhelmed than I am.

Mrs. Rossini of course offers them food, but they just ate.

"I think it's time to get the bride ready," Mother says.

"You can use Old Joe's room. The cat has shed the least fur in there."

"Wonderful," Mother says, rolling her eyes.

I grab the bag my yellow dress is in and let Mrs. Rossini lead the way into the back bedroom. Sam tags along, bragging about how she picked out the dress, like she was there in the dress shop in '66, when she wasn't even a twinkle in Tony's eye then.

At first, it's just the women and girls of my family, Sam included. Then I can hear Rosie's voice, cutting through all those other loud voices. She comes in a moment later, as I'm slipping on the dress.

"Oh my Gawd, Mrs. Bowah, you look bee-u-tiful!" she cries, her accent thickening in this atmosphere.

"Thank you, Rosie." I make introductions.

And then Theresa and Mrs. Rossini come in and soon everyone is jostling to do my hair and make-up. Mother kicks them all out, except Sam, who hands her the items she asks for, like she's a surgery nurse.

"Can I wear lipstick?" Sam asks to our surprise.

"Your father would kill us," I say.

"Well, then, Mrs. Robinson—"

"Mona," Mother says.

"Mona." Sam smiles. "Can you make my hair look more grown-up?"  
"I think Tony would be OK with that," I say.

She does a simple upsweep, which Sam adores.

"And how do I look?" Mother asks.

I say, "Perfect, as always."  
She grins. "I know but I still like to hear it."

"You are the most beautifulest grandmother I've ever seen."

"Awww, thank you, Sweetie!" Mother gives her a big hug. "And what do you think of the bride?"

"Her dress matches her hair."

I can see Mother is dying to make a "dark roots" joke but, perhaps because it's my wedding day, she resists and says, "Yes, it does."

Someone knocks on the door. Sam peeks out. "Oh, hi, Grandpa."

Luckily, it's Matty rather than Nick. "How's it goin' in here?"

"See for yourself," Mother says.  
"Wow, the three prettiest girls are all in here!"

We all smile at him. Then he comes closer to me and says, "I never had a daughter but I'm very glad I'm getting you for a daughter-in-law."

It feels strange because everyone in the room but Sam knows that I'm already Matty's daughter-in-law. Yet, this fourth and final wedding does feel more official than all the moments when I may or may not have become Tony's wife. This time it's something we're freely, consciously choosing, with our friends and family gathered to witness us.  
"How's the crowd out there?" Mother asks. "Restless?"

"To be honest, they're going back and forth between watching the game and the parade."

"Oh, good, no pressure," I say dryly.

Then I hear the wedding march, on accordion! I guess the best man is doing double duty.

"Ready?" Matty asks and I nod.

Mother kisses me on the cheek and then I kiss Sam on the cheek. They leave the room, hand in hand. Then Matty offers me his arm.

He muscles his way through the crowded apartment. I haven't seen anything like this since Woodstock. (Yes, I went, but there was too much mud, so I went back to the hotel and did homework for my summer classes.) I spot Wendy and Herb, Isabel and Ben, Dr. and Mrs. Ferguson, but it's mostly Brooklyn people, most of whom I don't know by sight. I'll have to ask Tony later who they all are.

Rosie almost blinds me with the flash of her Polaroid Instamatic. Sam and Marci are throwing petals in people's faces. Poor little Jonathan is crying, but he's not the only one.

"It's the most beautiful wedding I ever saw!" Mrs. Rossini sobs. And she's right.

The dining table has been stowed somewhere and I can just catch sight of Father Marconi in the dining room, Tony and Bobby in front of him. Bobby is still wearing the accordion. Tony is incredibly handsome in his tux and, yes, I'm trying not to remember helping him take it off in Charleston. But at the same time, I'm letting myself imagine a little it coming off tonight in Vegas.

Matty gets me over to his son and beams at us both. Then he finds a seat, pulling Sam into his lap. My new family.

Then I search for Jonathan, who's still crying.

"Mommy!"

Everyone laughs. I go to Jonathan, whom my Aunt Barbara is trying to soothe, and scoop him up in my arms. I don't have to ask if Tony minds. When I return to my groom, he reaches out and ruffles Jonathan's carefully combed hair.

So I recite my vows holding my son. Tony's eyes are filled with love for us both when he promises "in sickness and in health" and all the rest. I'm so distracted, I can't even tell if Father Marconi has modified the ceremony for the Protestant bride. The crowd isn't complaining.

Tony got me a lovely golden band, plain yet elegant. I don't know when he had time to pick it out. We'd agreed on a single-ring ceremony, to keep it simple, but to be honest I don't know when I would've been able to make it to the jeweler's.

When it's time for the kiss, Mother comes up and carries Jonathan away. She and Wendy and of course all of Tony's friends egg us on. I don't have a veil, but Tony gently pushes my wavy hair back from my ears and cups my face. I know there are dozens of people here, some out on the fire escape, but all I can think of for a very long moment is the touch of Tony's hands, the taste of his full lips. Then everyone applauds us, and I'm reminded of where I am.

His friend Dennis is the one to catch the garter belt (borrowed from Mother of course). Poor Christy gets the bouquet. (I think she's had only one date in her life.)

And then somehow we make our way outside, just me, Tony, Matty, Mother, Sam, and Jonathan. It's snowing lightly now and it's hard to distinguish the flurries from the rice people are tossing out of windows. We run for the van.

Matty says, "We've got to get you two to the airport before this gets too heavy."

"Right," Mother says. "Come on, Kids, get in."

Jonathan can't make it into the van unaided, so I carry him in and hold him in my lap. Matty and Sam sit in back, while Tony, Mother, Jonathan, and I crowd into the front seat. It takes half an hour to get to the airport, which isn't bad in this weather.

"Should I try to find parking?" Tony asks.

"You two better get out here. You don't want to miss your plane," his father says.

"Can I have the window seat?" Sam asks.

"Me, too!" Jonathan says, although of course he has no idea what she's talking about.

"Sweetheart, I thought you understood. This trip is just for me and Angela."

"Mommy and Tony will be back in a couple days, Darling. I promise!" I hope Jonathan doesn't start crying again.

Then the kids laugh heartily, I think Jonathan because Sam is.

I glare at Mother, because I know instinctively she put them up to this.

Nonetheless, I hug her goodbye as well as the others. We all get out of the van to hug more easily. I expect Mother to tease me and Tony, but she's already had her fun.

"Be good. All of you," Tony says.

Matty will look after the children in Brooklyn, with help from Mrs. Rossini. Mother will presumably return to Fairfield, although I suspect she may have too much fun in Brooklyn to go home right away. Well, she's not my problem for the next few days.

I wish they could see us off at the gate, but this is hard enough. Then Tony takes my hand and we run inside, our luggage in our free hands.

As we stand on line for the baggage check-in, I have a horrible moment of imagining our plane crashing, and then an even worse one of the van in an accident that will kill our parents and children. But then I look into Tony's warm brown eyes and I know that everything will be OK.

"Ready for your honeymoon, Mrs. Micelli?"

"Well, let's wait till we get to Vegas, Mr. Micelli."

He chuckles and kisses me. And I don't care who's watching.


	46. His Girl

Angela and I smile at each other after I sign the register as "Anthony M. Micelli" and hold the pen out to her. She takes the pen and writes, "and Angela K. Robinson-Micelli." I know that she probably won't be going by that but it's still a nice touch.

As far as we know, Nevada is not a common-law state. You have to have an actual marriage ceremony for it to count here. And this time, we will most definitely be consummating that ceremony. Eight weeks late but better late than never.

I know, we don't have to have sex in every state we've been to, but it would be fun. And I also know that it's probably for the best that we didn't have sex that very first night. If we hadn't been married, then we probably would've gone our separate ways and missed out on all that this has developed into. And I think we probably would've regretted the drunken marriage if it had led to drunken sex. We might've felt trapped. This way, this is something we've chosen, again and again.

When we get to our room, we set down the luggage and I pick her up. She's more of a handful than Marie, and I don't just mean physically. That shy, classy lady I figuratively picked up eight weeks ago has turned out to be more than I ever imagined, sometimes more than I can handle, but totally worth the effort.

Of course, the problem with carrying your bride over the threshold is that someone has to go back for the luggage. They never show you that in the movies. Or maybe you're supposed to use a bellhop, I don't know.

But once we and our bags are behind the closed door, she says, "Oo, Tony, how sweet!"

I look and she's admiring a big bouquet of flowers.

"Uh, I didn't order those." Geez, it was tough enough coordinating the wedding and getting her ring and everything.

"Oh, there's a card." She reads it and laughs. Then she hands it to me. I notice that the envelope says it's from a Reno florist.

" _Dear Angela and Tony,_

 _May this Vegas honeymoon be the best my ex-wife has ever had._

— _Brian"_

"I told you he had a sense of humor," I say.

"It takes me awhile to truly appreciate my husbands' finer qualities."

"Well, luckily I have awhile."

And then we kiss.

We could go dancing. We could go see Wayne Newton. We could of course gamble. But as Angela said on the plane, we'd rather gambol.

We're still in our wedding clothes.

"Did I tell you how much I like this dress?" I ask, as I slowly unzip it.

"Yes, but tell me again."

"I like how it shows off your legs. I like how it hugs you just enough. I like how it falls to the floor."

She smiles. "I like this tuxedo. If you have to cover up your body, this is the perfect way to do it."

I shake my head. "I know a better way to cover it."

She grins. "Well, so do I."

A few minutes later, we're in bed, taking turns covering each other's body with kisses. And then we take turns covering each other's body with our own, with a lot of kisses on the face and neck.

"Your skin is so soft, so sweet, so warm," I murmur between kisses.

"I love feeling your skin next to mine," she whispers.

"I love feeling my skin inside yours," I gasp, and then I enter her. So good, so good, in here!

"Fill me up, Tony, oh, yes!" she sighs.

And for a long while, all we say is each other's name and the words "I love you." Three simple words. Well, five, counting our first names.

She's not having rapid-fire orgasms this time. She's less hungry, more lingery. I'm going slower, too, not trying to prove anything.

Our eyes and our mouths are making love, too. And for awhile, our hands clasp, and our feet weave together. Like we want to connect everywhere, every way, we can.

But the centers are where it's hottest and most intense, more and more.

"More, more, Tony, please please more!"

"Please please me," I tease, which she finds funnier than I expect.

"OH, TONY, YOU'RE SO VERY TONY!"

"Give me your sweetness, Sweet Angie! Yes, just like that! A little more!"

Her orgasms flow back and forth between us like an electric current, like the current of a river.

It's a little late to ask, but I think to wonder, "Is your diaphragm in?"

"Yes, I put it in when I used the restroom at the Vegas Airport."

"Good, 'cause here comes my baby juice!"

She finds this hysterical but I don't care. I let her laughter rock me into coming. There is no one like my Angie and no place I'd rather be.

When we're tangled up in what I once heard Mona refer to as post-coital human macramé, Angela says, "Tony, would you mind if we didn't stay in Vegas?"

I'm startled. "Uh, are you not having a good time?"

"Don't be silly. Of course I am. But I was just thinking, you once promised to paint the town red with me, the town of San Francisco."

"Yeah, I remember. You want to go back to Frisco?"

"Yes, please."

"Well, I guess we could cancel the other nights here."

"Thank you, Darling." She kisses my cheek.

"Road trip?"

"Road trip."

"Coastal route?"

"Well, we might not get to San Francisco till Saturday then."

"Hey, as long as we get where we're going, the side trips are fun."

She grins and says, "All right, we'll honeymoon in Albany."

She doesn't have to explain that she's quoting the end of _His Girl Friday_ , where Rosalind Russell has given up on her boring fiancé and has gone back to her ex-husband, played by Cary Grant. I know my cue. I grin back and say, "Well, isn't that a coincidence? We're going to Albany! I wonder if Bruce can put us up."

But, no, I don't think we'll stay with Brian.

THE END FOR NOW

...

 **Author's Note: Again, thank you to everyone who's read this story, especially those of you who've taken the time to comment. Anonymous Guest (AKA readingfrenzy?), I appreciate your insights and guesses, although I don't in fact have children. A.G., as the person with the 200th review, your "prize" is to name the slightly hippie-ish woman who runs Jonathan's daycare in the sequel. Please leave the name in the comments, or PM me if you can. If you refuse this prize, then it'll go to GoldenGirlSherry.**


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